The Man in The Bearskin Cloak
by hugsnkisses72188
Summary: Read the A/N in ch 10 first! A poor young man meets with a strange demon and agrees to go unwashed, and unkempt for seven years in return for perpetual wealth. based on an original Grimms fairy tale. R
1. prelude to dissaster

Hello all! This story is one of my favorite original Grimms fairy tales. I love it so much, so I hope that I can do it justice, and at the end of this story, you will love it as much as I do. That being said, this story might have some very unpleasant aspects to those with weaker stomachs. This is, after all, based on an original Grimms fairy tale, and it's not any of the fluff that Disney turned some of their stories into. So, to those of you who can stand it, I now present The Man in The Bearskin Cloak! *Trumpets sound* here it is.  
  
Prelude  
  
Johnny  
  
To every story there is a beginning and an end. Most of them are pleasant, starting out with a good home, loving parents, adorable siblings, and some sort of fairy godparent. This is not one of those stories. My Father was a raging alcoholic, everything I did was an offense, no matter how innocent a deed it was. My two older brothers Loken, and Redalpho, were not much better. They were twins, and two years my senior. They used their superiority over me every chance they got. I was always no better than a male Cinderella, only I got beaten like she never had, because I was a boy, and supposedly made of stronger stuff than a wimpy girl. I was strong indeed, but getting beaten isn't fun, or pleasant no matter what sex you are.  
  
My mother though, was like an angel. Why she ever married my father I'll never know. I remember her only faintly. She died when I was 4. Still innocent in my youth. She was able to rescue me from my fathers clutches most of the time. He felt that 2 sons were enough, and any more after that were no better than dogs. She had taken me, and loved me like a parent should. She taught me many virtues, and taught me how to read and write and use my brain rather than rely on brawn like my pig-headed brothers. She loved them too, to be sure, but they were cruel to her, even when small. Already following fathers' footsteps. They never learned the art of the mind, of all of the wonders of reading, and thinking for oneself. They were malleable to my father, and he molded them like a master sculptor with a blob of clay. They were fierce. I was gentle and kind, and I loved my mother very much.  
  
We found solace in each other's company. We shared thoughts and dreams, and I shared my fears. The dreams of a 4 year old aren't big, or not supposed to be, but I told my mother that I wanted to be a soldier. To help the land, and all of the families in our country. To protect the little people as I couldn't protect myself. To perhaps be remembered in time to come, or put in stories later on. A hero in my time. Big dreams certainly, but mother encouraged them. She told me I could do anything I wanted to. She thought my dream a noble one, and when she died I stuck to it like glue.  
  
I never got to say goodbye to her. She died of mysterious causes in the night, and I suppose I believed it then. I learned better later. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Oh, yes, taking beatings from my brothers. Why did I just sit there and take that treatment you ask? The answer is very simple really; as much as I sometimes disliked my brothers I never hated them. I feared them sure, cursed them always, but I loved them all the same. After all, they were family, and if they didn't feel the same brotherly love towards me well, what could I do? I refused to beat them, though I could have easily. I think deep down they knew this, and it was probably what fueled their fire even more, trying to provoke me. I wouldn't sink to their level though.  
  
My father too. I was malnourished, and ill-treated. But I didn't complain, and I never raised a hand against them...then that is. I had been practicing secretly in the forest at the side of our house with wooden swords of my own making, and staffs, and arrows, and my own fists. Anything I could make out of wood, I made, and any skill, or tricks I could learn from books and manuscripts I learned. I was very single minded I suppose, working in such a way, but it occupied my mind and hands, and kept my dream clearly in focus.  
  
My days went thus for 14 years, ever since mother died, till the day I was 18. That birthday (ignored as always) was the happiest, and the saddest at the time. That was the day my father died, also of 'mysterious causes.' I had no doubt that my brothers had done it. They were named sole benefactors of my fathers' estate, and everything he owned went to them in equal shares. It was quite a lot, but I wasn't included. I was sad that my father had died, because I had loved him, even through all of his harsh ways. I was happy also though, for it meant that I could leave his house and join the army. Finally. It was a turning point of my life, one of the beginnings of many happy days. Our country wasn't at war, and I saw the army simply as an opportunity to help the innocent, and extract the kings' justice. I packed my bag; only one was needed to house all of my belongings. My brothers didn't let me take any food with me. They said that it was all theirs, and I would be a thief if I touched any of it. They did grant me one small silver coin. Enough for a loaf of bread, a mug of water, and perhaps a bed if the inn was especially cheap. I was happy enough to leave, even on such poor treatment. I remember that day vividly. My small pack on my back, a staff in my hands, and a silver coin in my pocket. Never was I more satisfied up to then. Staring out of the doorway at the landscape before me. Breathing in the air of morning, crisp and sweet. I took a very deep breath and started walking.  
  
I arrived at the recruitment camps some days later. Half starved, and wild for some water. I hadn't gauged the distance very well, and had used my silver piece that first night. Not having taken a water bottle with me, or anything else of value for a traveler I was nearly fainting with thirst. I suppose the first impression that the recruits had of me was of a gentle, frail man. Probably couldn't lift a sword, thought they. But after a good meal, and some water, and lots of rest I was more fit than I ever was in my father's house.  
  
The first time on the practice field my partner looked like he was scared to fight me because he was afraid he would knock me over with the first blow. This proved not to be the case and I soon had him staring up at me from his position on the ground. One of the advantages of teaching yourself how to fight was that you didn't learn the traditional moves but made up ones of your own. None of my moves had fancy names to go with them, they just were, and I'm willing to bet there were pretty impressive looking. My days hacking at trees, and leaves, and bushes had certainly paid off, and not many of the men there could beat me in any form of fighting except hand to hand combat. I soon earned the respect of my commanding officer, and it all went up hill from there. I made many friends, none of them close so that even now I don't remember their names, but they were friendly and we all got on well together. We laughed about our duties, and looked at them lightheartedly, like we hadn't a care in the world. That was, until the barbarians from the north attacked.  
  
There are many stories about the people from the north, none of them good. They were people, or things, that the people of our country feared more than any others. For the most part we were a practical country, holding the forms of magic, and sorcery with disbelief, and disdain. The people from the north were different. They used the forbidden arts of magic, and it was said that some of their creatures could even steal your soul. They had to win it first, but they used the trickiest of ways to do it. They made it so that you couldn't resist their impossible wagers, and then when you failed they would suck the soul out of your body and give it to the devil. (A/N that really is in the original story, and I'm sorry if any of you don't approve.) Some people didn't believe in them, or if they did, they believed that they had nothing to do with our small lives, and that if we didn't bother them, they wouldn't bother us. Obviously that didn't happen.  
  
They broke over our borders as if they were no more than toothpicks to their vicious wills. Everyone in the army was soon dispatched to go out and stop them. Many people deserted then, fearing the north more than the consequence of death that waited for them when they were found. Those of us brave enough to go, went soon and without ceremony.  
  
We had a big army, but even we doubted that our greater mass of numbers could tackle their greater mass. Their people were HUGE! Well, most of them, some of them were short and spindly and evil looking. We learned to fear them more than the giants. The little people could sneak around to your back when you were distracted and stick a knife in it. Obviously these people had no code of honor. We learned to be just as ruthless, but it was a thankless task. I, at least, felt dirty using the tricks of the enemy against them. It was like going against my own grain, going against the virtues that my dear mother had spent so long teaching me. I resolved to let the rest of the army resort to trickery. I was as honest in war as I was in everything else, and I was soon established as a very formidable opponent. I suppose that in all of my hours of dreaming about being a soldier I never realized that I would have to kill anything. Enemy or not, people or not, it was a horrible thing to do, but I believed in helping my country, and helping the people who couldn't help themselves. So fiercely did I believe in this that nothing could deter me from beating any opponent I came across.  
  
The war lasted three years. In that time I grew stronger, and better at fighting. The creatures learned to regard me with fear, and they usually stayed clear of me if they could. I grew used to killing the creatures, though I never enjoyed it. By the end of the war we were all exhausted, but we had kept our lands safe, and the creatures finally decided that our small land wasn't worth all of the effort. They retreated and our land was left in peace. Some of it was also left in ruin, and all of the years spent fighting had drained the army's resources. They didn't have any payment for the true and faithful soldiers like myself. They gave each of us a few silver coins apiece. That was it. We were sent on our way, and I was released from the army. They said it was because of all of my hard work, I know it was because I had begun to make them nervous with my tireless fighting skills. But they respected me, and I them.  
  
The day I left the army was a very sad one. The only happy time in my life thus far had been the times with my mother, and the ones spent in the jovial company of my fellow soldiers. Now those days were gone, and I was starting my life from scratch. I used up my little silver coins soon enough, and though it made my insides scream with indignation I made my way back to my brothers' household.  
  
I knocked upon the door and my brother Loken answered the door.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded.  
  
"Don't you recognize your own brother? I've come home from the war, hoping to perhaps start my life in your company." I didn't sound very sure of myself, and my brother grinned at me.  
  
"Hey Redalpho get over here! Look who's come back from the war. In dirty clothes and begging, he's a sorry sight ain't he brother?"  
  
"He's no brother of mine Loken. You're letting all the warm air out. Close the door and let this beggar get on begging. He'll find no alms here." And with that the door was slammed in my face. But not before I got one last look of Lokens face grinning like a baboon.  
  
Ashamed, and angry at this unjust treatment I began walking again. But not before I left on their doorstep a very smelly pile of manure. I'm ashamed that I sank to that petty level, but I was mad. And I would have laughed if I had seen the expression on Redalpho's face when he went outside for a walk and stepped ankle deep in the warm smelly mess of dung. Just desserts for one so horrible, but I didn't see this, only continued on my way to another village, where perhaps some kind family would give house to a stranger. I could help them with some things I was sure, but the people of the towns proved hard-faced and grim-mouthed. "We have hardly enough for ourselves," They would murmur, "We don't have enough for you too." Doors would slam, and all the while the weather was getting colder and colder.  
  
Finally, days later, exhausted, and hungry, and thirsty, I sat down underneath a great oak tree, not noticing as I did so the little green man who stayed just out of sight. That, my friends, was the beginning of all of my problems, and also the reason for my future happiness, for every cloud has a silver lining. Sometimes that happiness has a long wait before it manifests itself though. And mine was a very, very long time to wait. Seven years. But I'm getting ahead of myself once again. And there are more sides to this story than just my own.  
  
Sabina  
  
Back then I lived in a small house, shared with my father and two sisters. Both of my sisters were older than I was. My mother died in childbirth, while having me. I'm sure my sisters loved me, but my mother had been such a wonderful woman that they saw me as her murderer. They shunned me, and made fun of me, and were always cruel. My father used to tell me that children were cruel, and that they would grow out of it, but you don't grow out of that. You can't. And my sisters never did, to my grief, and, eventually, even to theirs.  
  
Times were hard for a farmer then. With all of the warring in the north our crops got taken by the army to feed their soldiers. They didn't have money to pay, and my father didn't have the heart to charge them.  
  
"After all," he would say, "They are keeping us safe, and the least we can do is provide nourishment without asking for a great price." My father was very loving. My sisters scoffed at this though. What about our house they would say? What about our pearls and fine things? What about our dowries when we are married? We shall never get married if we can't assure our husbands of our wealth. They were so selfish, and they never saw the good in people like my father did. I inherited that trait, and I was understanding. I was gifted with a needle, and so I embroidered, and made fine gowns for the ladies of the village nearby. I paid for seeds for planting in spring, and I paid for my sisters' fine things, and the food on our tables. I never took anything for myself but gave willingly. I figured it was my payment for murdering our loving mother. My father looked on me with sadness when he saw me selling another of my treasured works, but he said nothing, for he knew that without the money we would starve. I knew, however, that soon the market for such things would dwindle, and we would be left in poverty.  
  
Then the unexpected happened and the war ended. Quite suddenly it seemed, and there were no more soldiers to pick our fields dry. However, the abuse of so much rough handling had ruined most of our plants, and the harvest was poor. We had barely enough to sell for new cloth for me, and we had to use most of the food for ourselves, though it was still not enough. We all grew thin. But the market for my embroidery had not ceased entirely, so I continued to sew, and the market continued to dwindle as households had began to have more than 1 work of mine for their walls or their closets, or floors. Soon the only house without a piece of my artwork was my own.  
  
We had to move soon, from our lovely home, into a small, three-bedroom cottage. My sisters had to share a room with me, and they weren't happy about that. Not at all. The other bedroom was for father, and the third was for my workshop/our storage room/guest room/anything we needed. It was cramped, but my father and I made the best of it. My sisters had to sell all of their finery, and all of the silver, and everything that would fetch a price. They were hard times, and I didn't know how much longer we would last.  
  
So! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of my story. Comments are well appreciated, and constructive criticism, and friendly advice. I hope to keep you entertained through the remainder of this story, and so if there are any suggestions that you would like to make please do. I will try to include them if it doesn't hurt the original plot, or my own imaginings. Till next time! And don't forget to review! 


	2. the bearskin cloak

Hello! Second chapter already! This is a record for me. This is where we get into the actual story, so sit back, relax, and enjoy.  
  
Johnny  
  
I awoke from my small nap later that night. Feeling hopeless, but strangely not resentful of any of the people who wouldn't help. They didn't have enough supplies, and I'd had a good life. If only I could have convinced my stomach of that fact. It wouldn't stop growling, and the pain was excruciating. If you've ever skipped meals for a couple days, you'd know my pain. I felt I could resign myself to my fate if only I didn't have to live through the pain. And the thirst! It was horrible, and my mouth was sticky and hardly had enough saliva to wet it sufficiently.  
  
I wish I could say that in all of my times, I had learned not to wallow, but I pitied myself right then. I suppose that's why it happened, why I said yes, why I didn't recognize this person for what he was right away. But hunger does strange things to the mind, and I suppose the cold made me somewhat delirious. He popped out of the bushes suddenly, and he hopped into the oak branches above me. I jumped a foot into the air, my knife drawn and at the ready. This man had taken one jump and landed on an oak branch! That was at least 5 ½ feet high! In one jump! I was jumpy, and in pain, and cranky. The little man laughed, the sound like broken glass grinding. It hurt the ears. I took a better look at him, for I was sure even then that it was a 'he.' It was green, and it had a cloven left foot. His face was covered with coarse black hair that spread in all directions. His eyes were the worst though. Little black pools of darkness. There wasn't a scrap of white in them; they were like giant pupils, staring at you from out of their depths. A person could get lost in eyes like that, and not in the good way.  
  
"A soldier feeling sorry for himself? Pah! Horrible, that. I thought soldiers were supposed to be brave, and fearless, looking at the future with bright eyes and light hearts. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves." He said this slyly, as if he could read into my deepest memories.  
  
"I am brave demon!" I shouted, chafed at his suggestion that I wasn't a real soldier. "Give me a test to prove how brave I am. I will conquer it with little effort." Bravado. The downfall of all men is their need for bravado at times like these.  
  
The little man smiled to himself and said, "Gladly will I give you a challenge. Look behind you and we will see how much you measure up to your brave words."  
  
I turned around slowly, and felt something breathe hotly down my neck. I was face to furious face with a horrible, BIG, black bear. It growled, and all I had was my little knife. Well, I wasn't necessarily scared, but I was sick of killing. The bear wouldn't just go away though. Its main instinct was to kill or be killed. And I had gotten myself into this mess, so I would have to do this thing.  
  
The bear circled me, and I waited for it to make the first move. It stood up on its two back paws suddenly and took the first swipe. So fast did it move that, had I not been trained as a fierce fighter, with quick reflexes I surely would have been torn in half at the blow. Such was my experience though, that as soon as it lifted its paw to strike, I ducked underneath the arm and stabbed directly into the heart of the thing. I registered shock in the fierce eyes before the bear went limp in my arms. I was hungry, and weak, and I toppled under the weight.  
  
The little man jumped from the limb it had perched on, and came over to speak to me. My breathing was ragged with so many pounds of bear flesh making it hard to breath. My head poked out though, so the little man spoke to me directly. "Oh dear. Trapped are we?" he smiled and giggled maliciously, "Well, you've indeed proven your bravery. But what about your strength? How are you going to get out of there? Oh don't glare like that. You're hungry and weak, but I can help you, oh yes I can. I have a proposition for you, if you please. I can give you wealth beyond your wildest imaginings. You will be able to get anything you desire, buy anything you desire, live like a king. Interested?"  
  
Now you have to consider my position. I was half delirious from the cold, and hunger, and thirst, and what this man offered seemed like a breath of fresh air after almost dying from drowning. He offered me the key to my survival. What would you have done? Honestly? I'd like to say I refused, didn't give in like that, followed my mothers' steadfast teachings, and died of starvation. This is not what happened. "What's the catch?" I asked curiously.  
  
The little man smiled again, "The catch is this. You may not wash yourself, or comb your hair, or cut your nails, or hair, or change your clothes, or sleep on any bed but the one I will make for you. Not for seven years. If you die during that time, your soul is mine, and if you break the rules at any time, your soul is mine. Still interested?"  
  
I said yes. I agreed. I gave up. But it wasn't over yet. With one hand the little man lifted the bear off of me and I gasped and took a deep breath. "Let's shake on it." He said. I put out my hand and he shook it vigorously. He took out a knife and began to skin the bear. He did it carefully, as if he had much practice. However he left great chunks of bear flesh still connected, and I began to worry. I had already agreed, and I knew I was bound by my word. If I tried to back out now this man would take my soul. It was a mistake and I knew it was, but too late.  
  
Finally he was done skinning the beast. He snapped his fingers and the rest of the bear burst into flames and was consumed by them in an instant. There was nothing left but ash, and a horrible smell of burnt flesh; one I feared would stay with me forever. I was disgusted with myself. Meanwhile the little man took out a spool of thread and a pair of sharp scissors. He began to sew the bears' flesh into...something. I didn't know what exactly, but I felt the stirrings of fear. After a few more moments the little man made a few slashes and shoved something inside them. He was done and he looked up from his work with satisfaction. I thought it resembled a lump of hair. He threw the bearskin over my shoulders. There were sleeves of a sort, and it was very long and went down to my feet. I don't know if you've ever smelled the reek of uncured animal flesh, but it's not very pleasant. And the chunks of meat were strategically placed to make me look deformed, and monstrous. They would rot soon, and I would feel the juice run down my neck soon enough. It was warm though; I suppose that was one good thing, the only good thing I could see so far.  
  
"Okay, I'm wearing this monstrous piece," I said forcefully, "Where's your end of the bargain? You promised me wealth if I did this. If you don't keep your end of the bargain I'll not be tied to mine." I was beginning to feel safe. If he couldn't provide his end, I wouldn't have to do this after all. He must have seen my look for he laughed again.  
  
"Don't think you can get out of this that easily. See where I inserted pockets in the sides? Everytime you reach your hand in them you'll see they're filled with gold. The gold will never fade, or dwindle or go away. And no, it's not stolen. It's perfectly legitimate, and safe. Now then, I'll be watching to make sure you keep your end of the bargain. The cloak will be your bed. If you sleep in another, you break the deal and your soul is mine. If you wash your hair or face or clothes or body, your soul is mine. If you comb or clip your hair or nails, your s-"  
  
"-soul is mine, I get it I get it. You can leave now. I'll see you in seven years." And with that I began walking towards the village. Every step I took caused juice and slime to run down my arms and neck and shoulders and legs. Blood dripped down, and I began to look monstrous. I felt sticky and unkempt already, and every step I took reminded me that there were seven more years to go. I dipped my hands in the pockets and was surprised to find many coins waiting there. I pulled out a handful and realized that they were all gold. I was richer than a king, and for a moment I forgot my troubles. At that moment my stomach rumbled. I decided to go to the village and get something to eat and drink and find a place for the night.  
  
As soon as the people from the village saw me they gave me a frightened look and dashed off to their homes. Doors slammed and locked. I came to the first in and saw that they were looking very scared as well. The owner was about to bar their door too but I took out a handful of gold and his greed overcame his wish to shut me out. He opened the door wide and I was treated well. I was given the very best meals. I tried to eat the meat but the rank odor of the bear meat kept me from having much of an appetite for anything, much less meat. I ate vegetables, and fruits, and all dishes without meat in them. I drank the very best ciders, and in time felt quite satisfied. They led me to a room with a large luxurious down- filled bed. I looked longingly at the soft bed but had to keep to my bargain. I curled up on the floor, wrapping the bearskin around me tightly. This was the moment I realized just how skillful the little man had been. The chunks of fat had been placed strategically in the very worst spots. Finding a comfortable position was impossible. I tossed and turned all that night, all the while cursing the strange little man, though I knew that the only fault was my own.  
  
Sabina  
  
In time I got used to being hungry always. It was unimportant when I considered our other troubles. My father had had to sell even the little three-bedroom cottage. We moved into town, but it wasn't a pleasant time. The town was many miles away from our quiet farm, and surely the market for my treasured needlework would be greater there. My father would have to sell others crops instead of our own. And he would, but he was depressed. My sisters couldn't do anything but giggle and laugh about all of the fine things we would do when we got there. I started to resent them. Could they not see our troubles? Did they feel that they were exempt from trying to help the family make a living? They spent more of our precious money than my father and myself combined, and ten times more!  
  
The day we moved was a sad day. We would be leaving the quiet comfort of the country for the bustling noisy activity of the city. I packed up my few things with care. Gently for the few things that I had kept were of great worth to me. My sisters threw their things into bags helter-skelter. They were loaded and ready to go before my father and I. We both took our time, reminiscing and walking among our once plentiful rows of vegetables and fruits. We said goodbye in our own ways, and at noon we could put it off no longer. My sisters were screeching for us to get into the cart so we could go. I said my last goodbye and got in the cart. We were off.  
  
The trip to the city took until dawn the next morning. It was hard, and bumpy, and jolting. I didn't complained, just stared vacantly at the passing landscape. My sisters chattered like two birds. They wouldn't be quiet and I did my best to block them out. It was useless, their mindless chattering drove me insane, and I began to wish wistfully for our quiet country life. I'm not one to dwell on such things though, and I looked forward, if not with happiness, at least without a foreboding sense of dread. When we finally reached our new house I finally was joyful. It was quaint and pleasing to the eye. Very small, probably with only two bedrooms this time, and not much space, but the outside was very pleasant. I squealed with delight and rushed over to take a closer look. My sisters, however, looked as if they had swallowed a bug. "How can we live in such a tiny apartment?" they would ask, "Such a place is not fitting for two as fair to look upon as we are." They scoffed, but I loved it. And it had the loveliest garden in back. It was small, and unkempt, hardly more than a weed patch, but it reminded me of home and I rushed over first thing to start weeding. I saved the poor lavender and rosemary from choking on the weeds. Next I trimmed the climbing jasmine and honeysuckle that was growing out of control. That first day I accomplished much, and my garden became my sanctuary. I asked my sisters if they wanted to help, but they scoffed and said, "Ruin our hands with such menial work? Hardly."  
  
I didn't understand their mood, had we not grown up simple farmers? Were we not hardworking, and fair people? Then why did they act as though they were queens and I the servant? It made no sense, but I reminded myself once more that I had killed mother, and they were justified to treat me however they wished.  
  
That first day was a crossing-over point for me. While I still missed our quiet farmhouse, and all of the memories, I fell in love with the house, small as it was, and with the little cries from the vendors, and the babble of people walking in the streets. We lived on the poor side of town, and our neighbors were poor as well, but they were happy, and content with life. Children screamed in the streets as they played their noisy games. Mothers called to their children to be safe, and chatted with their neighbors, and fathers discussed aspects of work, or where this or that blacksmith or tailor worked, and what they could do to help the families near them who had come on harder times than they themselves had come upon. The people were friendly, and as I worked in my garden I could hear their friendly chatter.  
  
My sisters scoffed at it all, and complained about the 'squalor' we lived in. I wanted to scream at them, 'do you not see the beauties of this town? Do you not hear the kindness of the people? Do you not long to be part of this community, part of this loving family?'  
  
I could not work in my garden forever though, and my family needed money to put food on the table. I took up my needle once again, and sat down inside to work. I missed the gentle chatter of the people though, so I took a chair and sat out in the front yard while I worked. My new pattern gathered shape around my eyes, influenced by the kindness, and the lovingness of the people. It was turning out to be my best work ever, and I was so absorbed that I didn't notice the pair of eyes looking over my shoulder. After five minutes I finally felt something there and turned around to find a young girl watching me work. She looked to be about my age, with dark hair and a quick smile. She was beautiful certainly, but not in the way of traditional beauty. She caught the eye with her simple grace even when she wasn't moving. I thought that she'd make a wonderful dancer.  
  
"What are you making?" she asked me kindly.  
  
"It's going to be a tapestry. What do you think so far?"  
  
The girl looked at the gentle designs. The picture was of a cottage, all soft flowing lines and beautiful trim. The colors were exquisitely matched. But that wasn't the most remarkable. It was a cottage like no other; because it you looked past the picture you would see that the cottage was actually a girl. A very pretty smiling girl. You could see love, and kindness shine out of her eyes. It wasn't finished yet though, because I was planning on making smaller buildings around it. Those building would transform into her family. Like I said, my best work so far. I was proud of it, but I knew that it would rip at my heart to sell it like I knew I would have to eventually. We had to eat after all.  
  
"It's beautiful." The girl said truthfully. "My name is Anna Marie. I live there." She pointed at a house just down the street from mine. "You can call me Ann. Everybody does. Who's it for?" she asked, indicating the tapestry.  
  
"Whoever offers the best price I suppose." I said with a small pang to my heart. The girl shrank away from me for a moment, like I had said something monstrous.  
  
"You would sell your soul?" she whispered.  
  
"My soul?" I asked confused, "It's just a tapestry."  
  
"Just a tapestry." The girl repeated in a dull voice, "Do you think that any person could do that? And they call me naive. You must be touched in the head if you believe that. I know better." She moved closer to me, but I realized that the discussion was over from the tone of her voice and the subtle difference in posture. I was confused, but I decided that the tapestry wouldn't sew itself. I began again. Ann watched, but we didn't speak again that day. I had much to think of...  
  
Whew! That chapter was the same size as the last one. Weird. This one felt longer to me. Anyway, read and review, you know what to do. And tell me what you think. 


	3. first deed

Hello all! Apparently I had some kind of restriction to reviews on the settings to my story. Oops! I didn't mean to, in fact, I didn't even know it was there until Yoshinkisquall pointed it out. Thanks yoshikisquall! Anywho, it's not there now, so feel free to review with or without being logged on. Lol. But I'm sure that you don't want to listen to my endless jabber, so here's the next chapter. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Johnny  
  
  
  
I woke in the morning with the most excruciating pain in my back. It felt like thousands of knives were being slowly inserted, twisted, and then pulled out again. There was nothing I could do though, because I wasn't allowed to take off the coat, and no person would touch my back as it was. I sighed, once again cursing myself for my hasty action. If I had only paused to consider, if I had only recognized the signs. I knew now who the little man was, had I not fought countless others like him in my three years as a soldier? Had I not heard the tales about the creatures who would gamble you for your soul? And yet I was in this predicament. Well, it shows how much a person can truly change toward the worst when they're starving and, as much as I despise the word, greedy. I count myself in that category only because it was for love of money that I agreed to the horrible plan imposed upon me. Well, no more of that! I vowed right then and there that I would use the money for good, that I would help those who could not help themselves, like my soldiers training had taught me. Like my mother had taught me. Like I had dreamed I would.  
  
And so I went forth from that inn, paying the innkeeper generously for his service, even if it was to a monster like I looked. I wished that I could have shaven myself before, for there was a little bit of a beard growing in. but it was forbidden to me, and so I walked on un-shaved, un- washed, with dried blood on my arms, and my back slightly bent from the pain. I must've looked a sight!  
  
I tried to buy a horse to carry me, but as soon as I neared, the horses reared and started to pound at their doors with their hoofs. The stable hands had to ask me to leave, but I could see that they were almost as scared as the horses. Once again reminded of my hideous appearance, I left there and continued on foot, toward a town that would perhaps be kinder toward strangers.  
  
After many days of walking, resting at inns along the way (only by persuading the innkeepers to let me in with copious amounts of gold) I came to a fairly big settlement. I decided that the bigger a town was, the more poor, and starving people there would be. Now, you might be thinking that I was going to go along the streets handing out gold to every stranger dressed in rags. Certainly not so! For I knew, from hard experience with my father, about the drunks of the world, and I was not going to support their habit. I decided to watch and learn about the people I would support. Not in the stalker-ish, I'm going to kill a person way, but in the, I'm-a-spy- and-am-figuring-out-who-you-are kind of way. Perhaps you still disapprove, but I didn't want to give anything to people who wouldn't give anything back. Not to me, but to their fellow citizens.  
  
I found a house that I could buy for the moment, and I did so. I did not intend to stay for long, maybe a couple of months, but while I was there I needed to have my own place so that innkeepers wouldn't have to halt their business for a while for me. And also so that I wouldn't be too tempted about sleeping on a bed. So I bought a lovely little house. It was fairly big, but it was cozy, and a good find for such short notice. I had a hard time getting furniture, but in the end, I convinced the furniture maker that I could pay him well for his wares, and that convinced him. I bought a couch, a rocking chair, a nightstand, and a few dishes and pots and pans. They were all I really needed, and I didn't see the point of getting more than I needed at the moment.  
  
It was all very well to say that I was going to help the helpless, but how does one really start? My dilemma was that, now I was here, I was too afraid that even people I tried to help would shun me. I suppose that I've always had a need to be accepted, even in my own household. I tried everything I could to get the approval of my father, and my brothers. Now that I looked like some sort of monster, I doubted people would be kinder. This was the second to worst part of my entire journey. The waiting, the doubting, the baseless certainty that even when I tried to help I'd be turned away. I didn't know how to face that, and I feared that I would die of a broken heart before my allotted time had passed, and then I would spend eternity in perpetual torment. Looking at it from that angle certainly did nothing to improve my mood, but my nature was not one to let me cowardly ward off duty. So, somewhat more self-conscious than I would have liked, I stalked off into the streets on the poorer side of town.  
  
I still had no idea what I was going to do, or indeed how to do it. I could only gain courage from the fact that whatever people might think, I would be doing the right thing.  
  
I certainly had no practice being stealthy. I had never practiced that aspect of fight and war, because I was a soldier, and when would I use it? It would have helped then. If you can imagine: me walking through the streets. The cloak made me look taller and deformed. I had dried flakes of blood running down my hands, and the most awful smell. It was a combination of un-cured bear hide, rotting bear meat, and my own body odor from neglecting the bathing room for five days. Also, a beard was beginning to be visible. It made my face appear shaggy and untamed. This was perhaps the worst aspect, for I had been very handsome. To someone looking at me now I was nothing less than a monster, and a particularly scary one too, because I could walk, and talk like the rest of them. I was the stuff nightmares were made of, and it hadn't even been a full week yet. I despaired to think of the condition I would be in, in seven years. Combine this with my particularly loud entrance, any person would be scared away far before I got a chance to observe them.  
  
To some this was apparently not the case. A little boy on the streets was trying to sell matchsticks. He looked dirty, and unkempt. I saw lice in his hair, and it looked like rats had been at his clothing. The great holes were placed in very awkward places, in the knees, a big one on his back, and his shoes were torn open. Through the hole on his back I could see long, thin, worm like scars. The boy had been whipped. My heart felt for him, and despite all of my careful planning about all of the careful watching I would do, I decided that if this boy didn't need my help, nobody would. I took a step forward and the sound startled him. He turned around and I saw the fear on his face. He was frozen with it, and I felt like my heart would burst from sadness. I knelt a few feet away from him, trying to look small and unthreatening.  
  
"Boy. I mean no harm. Please, please don't look like that. I don't want to hurt you. I want to help." Obviously this boy didn't believe me, probably dreaming of all of the things I could do. This seemed to break his paralysis, he took a step backward, then another. He turned around, but before he could run away I pulled a fistful of gold out of my pocket. He caught his breath in surprise, and turned slowly towards me. He was still scared. I took out a few more handfuls of gold and placed them on the street in front of me before I began to slowly back up. When I was about 15 feet from the gold, the boy moved hesitantly forward. He picked up a piece of it and bit it to see if it was real or not. He looked surprised to see it was real. He looked up at me and I saw the ghost of a smile on his pale face. He could not have been more than seven years old. Noting that he was nervous still, I carefully got up, and turned slowly around. I walked away, but in the background I could hear coins clinking together as of someone picking them up and depositing them in a matchbox. I smiled. First good deed done, and while I had done it I felt the pain in my back lessen. With a slight spring in my step I walked back to my home.  
  
  
  
Sabina  
  
  
  
After Anna left me that day I spent a long time pondering her words. I wasn't a witch, of that I was absolutely positive, but then what else could she have meant? I could do no more work that day, for the sun was going down, and with it, my light. I sighed, folded up my work, stretched, and went slowly inside.  
  
Inside, my father was bent over a sheaf of paper. Curiously I went over to see what he was looking at. He looked up when he saw me coming and hid his work behind his back very quickly. I was hurt by this, assuming he didn't trust me. I turned on my heel and went to the kitchen to begin dinner. Normally this was my sister Melina's job, but since we had moved to the city she had decided that she was much too important to do such menial work. I thought she was ridiculous, her and my sister Kitaya as well. (A/N don't laugh at their names, I was in a silly mood when I wrote them) What did they do with their time? Who did they spend it with other than themselves? And whom did they hope to impress by their soft hands, and delicate skin? Not that they had those either. Years of working on a farm didn't keep your hands soft and white. It made calluses, and induced your skin to darker color. The way they were acting now you'd think that their hands were the most beautiful things ever created. Hah! Melina's hands were so rough that she couldn't even touch one of my tapestries without snagging the fabric. And Kitaya's hands were so brown that they could be mistaken for the hands of a guy! But then, perhaps they thought that if they pretended to be courtly, a rich gentleman would notice and carry them off to his estate. Fat chance of that too! No offense to my sisters, and I love them to pieces, but they weren't exactly courtly material. Their manners were atrocious! And they weren't the most attractive either. They weren't ugly certainly, but the kind of beauty that they thought they possessed was far beyond them. It was sad really, when you thought about it. They would spend all of their lives waiting for their prince charming, and by the time they realized he wasn't coming it would be too late to save them from the fate of old maids.  
  
The dinner was ready. I walked into my sisters' bedroom to tell them. They were practicing their laugh so that it would sound delicate when they laughed at one of their imaginary court gentleman's jokes. I had to choke on my own laughter as I watched them from the doorway. Not only did they sound like a pair of donkeys, but also the hand gestures they were using were ridiculous! A small giggle escaped my lips and immediately I was faced with two pairs of very hot eyes. I swallowed hard and said, "Dinner's ready." My sister Kitaya glared at me.  
  
"Oh and I suppose you could do better?" Kitaya snapped at me.  
  
Uh-oh. I knew I was in trouble now. If I did it and succeeded I would be branded a show-off and be beaten for flaunting such worthless talents. If I didn't succeed they would call me a hypocrite and beat me for laughing at such obviously nice courtly laughs. I was saved from having to meet the challenge as at that moment my father walked in. I sighed in relief.  
  
"Dinner's ready." I told him.  
  
"Huh? What? Oh, dinner? Dinner, good, good. Well, shall we then?" he held his arm out to me, and I took it with a laugh. My sisters glared at me. Obviously I had a better laugh than they did. Well, it wasn't like I was trying to have a nice laugh on purpose was it? I shrugged it off as an inevitable occurrence and let my father lead me to the dinner table.  
  
We didn't have very good supplies to choose from, so our meal was a simple one. It was fine with me though. I loved the simplicities of our life, and though I would have liked a grand feast, and fancy ball gowns, and beautiful jewels, they just weren't realistic at the moment. And we could all do just fine without them. Besides, I was happy, and I didn't think that being rich could possibly make me happier than I was already. After all, I had a loving father, needle, thread, and cloth, a beautiful little garden, and an exquisite home. And if it was a little small, well, our family wasn't that big anyway.  
  
The meal was made special by father's announcement that he had found a farmer that would probably let him sell vegetables for. I knew that it probably wounded my father's pride that he could no longer sell his own vegetables, but I was proud that he was willing to try. My sisters were glad also, but not for the same reasons. They began jabbering about all of the beautiful things they could buy with the new income. While they began to grow more excited, I saw that the light in my father's eyes dimmed considerably. He tried to put on a good front for my benefit, but I could see it in the way he slouched slightly, and his head drooped as though he was very, very tired. Suddenly he looked very old, and I grew scared, realizing how old he really was. My sisters didn't notice. They were too busy figuring out ways to spend the money we didn't even have yet.  
  
The next morning I took my little chair and sat outside to work again on my tapestry. Not five minutes had passed when Ann came again to sit and talk. I wasn't going to complain, I enjoyed her company, and I hoped she took as much joy from mine. We sat for a while in companionable silence, but he statement from the day before began to gnaw at me, and finally I voiced my concerns with her. She laughed when I asked about me being a witch.  
  
"What makes you think that you could possibly be magical?" here she snorted, "You're too practical for that. No, I meant that you pour yourself into your work. It becomes the people around you; it mirrors what you feel, and what you believe. Why do you think they sell so fast? Nobody can resist buying something with so much love put into it. Frankly I'm appalled that you would even sell them. They are beautiful sure, but they show much about you. I would die before I opened my soul and let everyone look at what's hidden there. But, perhaps you're more loving, and sharing than I. But let that rest. Have you heard about the new smith's apprentice? He's cute..."  
  
Our talk turned to menial things, and I was glad for that. I had much to think on, but it felt good to be able to talk freely with someone. I began to really miss my sisters then. Not the people that they were, but what we three could have been. Perhaps we would be a loving family right now, with kind words, and family games, and small talk at the dinner table. I finally began to realize how much I was missing, and I felt sad, and empty at the loss. But of course you cannot long mourn that which you never had, and certainly I'd never had that. I decided that family was not determined by who was born into it, but by the actions that those people took to secure a healthy relationship with others of the same unit. And right then Anna was more of my sister than both of my blood sisters combined. I began to heal then. Perhaps I hadn't murdered my mother after all. It was an accident, and perhaps I deserved better than to be a slave to my sisters' vicious wills.  
  
Well, there you have it. The secrets out, Sabina isn't magical. Bet you thought she was though didn't you? Lol. Well, I had to add it last time, it seemed like a very "dun-dun-dah!" moment. But perhaps I'm wrong. Anyway, review since you actually can now *blushes with embarrassment at stupid mistake* and tell me what you think! The faster you review, the faster the next chapter comes out! Actually not really. I only write new chapters every time I get a chance, but over the weekends I can't because I work. But I'm going to stop talking so that 1. I can get this out, and 2. You can review. 


	4. nothing's worth it anymore

Hello! I know I said that on the weekends I couldn't update because I work, but I've gotten very sick, so I couldn't work. And what else can one do when you're sick but read, watch television, and write? Not a whole lot! Lol. Anyway, I've gotten a lot of very good reviews, and I'm quite surprised. To be quite honest I started this story because I felt that I couldn't finish my novel without having some practice first. That's what this was supposed to be for, and I expected really bad reviews on it. It's really been a confidence booster to know that I'm not a completely horrible writer, so to those of who have reviewed so far, thank you very much, and this story's dedicated to you all.  
  
  
  
Johnny  
  
  
  
When I woke up the next morning I was still feeling especially good. I wondered for a moment at the wonders a good deed could produce. Then I realized that it wasn't only emotionally that I felt good. My back didn't hurt this morning, and the coat actually seemed comfortable. I looked down and saw that all of the bear fat had shrunk somewhat. Excitedly I got up and started to examine this new affect. I finally realized that it was no magic that had made this happen. Eventually the fat would rot away. Meanwhile it would shrink smaller each day. And I also realized that keeping the coat on didn't mean that I had to keep it closed. I could open it and expose the fat to the sun. It would smell horrible certainly, but the fat would shrink faster, and I could deal with that.  
  
With this purpose in mind I walked out onto the roof. As soon as I stepped out though, there came a noise from down below. It grew louder and louder. I couldn't place it. Curiously I stepped toward the edge of the roof.  
  
Imagine my surprise when I saw a crowd of people waiting by my door! They were cheering, and calling up to me. Pleading to help them in their dire need. Leading them was a small, well dressed boy. He looked very refined, yet somehow familiar. I couldn't place him for a moment, and then slowly comprehension dawned. It was the little boy from the street the day before. But what was he doing here? I wondered. He was certainly rich now, what more could he need from me? I saw mostly drunks, and richly dressed people below. I shook my head in wonder. Apparently the boy had told them of the stranger that had handed him piles of gold, and everybody decided that, instead of working for their money, they'd rather implore a stranger to wave a magic wand and make all of their troubles go away. Well, no sir! I refused to sink that low. I had money enough sure, but these people had brought the troubles on themselves, and if they thought that I would support them when there were people who needed it much more, they had another thing coming!  
  
A man walked through the crowd toward my door. I was startled to realize that it was the mayor! What could he need with more money? Apparently he was going to be the spokesperson.  
  
"Oh glorious stranger!" he started. I almost laughed. This coming from the person who had been tempted to force me to leave the city after he had seem me! I practically saw the honey dripping from his mouth as he said the words, but it was poisoned, and I didn't trust him. I saw the way people pointed at me, and the giggles of rich girls in the crowd. "I'm sure some magnificent force has sent you to our humble town to restore us to prosperity. I thank you sir, for long have I waited to be full at dinner." From the look of him he'd been full at dinner a few too many times. He was nothing short of obese! I looked at him disgustedly. Apparently my beard covered the expression, for he continued in his oily-sweet voice. "If you will simply give the money that you have prepared for the town to me, I will see that each of my subjects-"here he realized he'd made a mistake, "I mean...uh...friends, will get their equal share."  
  
I laughed at him, the sound rich and deep with my amusement. "Will you now?" I asked him, content dripping from my voice as much as honey had dripped from his, "I don't think so. You're kidding yourself if you think that I would hand you piles of gold just so that you can oppress these people even more. I'm not going to give you anything, nor anybody who is here now. And you will all deal with it, because I don't give handouts. I'm disgusted that you would try to rob the poor to support your own selfish needs. Go home, you'll find nothing for you here."  
  
The crowd began to laugh, not in the pleasant way though. The mayor spoke up. "I'm sorry, did it sound like I was giving you a choice? Let me rectify that hasty judgment on my part. If you don't give it willingly, we'll take it by force."  
  
I was disgusted. How many times had I heard similar sentences come from my brother's mouths? These people were led by their greed, and they were willing to do anything to feed it. I shook my head, wondering when people would get a clue, when someone would finally realize that they were wrong, admit it, and change themselves. How many people had to die before they realized that they were the killers? How many people would they steal from to achieve their own ends? I would try to help, but it wasn't enough to hand out money I realized, I had to give of myself, mind body, and soul. To help the people. Money wouldn't solve all of their problems, sometimes it would only make a situation worse. As in this incident. If I had observed the boy like I had planned I would have seen this, I would have been able to help him some other way. But would he have let me? These thoughts required pondering, and quiet. Something I wouldn't get from here, not with the crowd so noisy of their protests about my decision. I wanted to scream in frustration, but I wanted peace, not more arguments.  
  
"You'll get nothing from me," I repeated slowly, enunciating every word carefully so that nobody would miss them, "Now, go home. If you try to take by force what I would give willingly you will have nothing but empty purses and bloody hands. Don't condemn me to an early death so that you can be happy in your greed." These words swayed some, but too many people were left behind, the mayor included. He glared at me, gave a wave of his hand, and the rest of the crowd dispersed. I sighed. I might as well have been speaking to a wall for all of the good my words had done. I decided that I couldn't stay there for too much longer. I would have to move on soon. But I would be a coward to only help one person when there were obviously many more that needed me.  
  
I went back inside, all thoughts of shrinking bear fat gone from my mind. I sat down in a chair and thought about what I would do. Well, my first mistake had been made when I went out in daylight. Nobody could sneak around in daylight, especially one as interesting looking as I was. So I would go out at night. My second mistake had been to let my compassion get the best of me. I had thrown all of my planning out of the window the moment I had seen somebody in trouble. Obviously that had not been a good idea, look how badly that had turned out to be. Oh what a mess, I thought despairingly. But I would figure it out. I refused to let the little green man win. I could make it. I would have to. My salvation depended on it.  
  
  
  
Sabina  
  
  
  
It only took one more day to finish my tapestry. I sighed in relief at its completion. It was beautiful, and though it tore at me to part with it, I rejoiced that it would buy many important things for my family. Namely, food, clothing, and it would pay for house related bills.  
  
This was the day that I was going to sell it. Anna was going to come with me for moral support, and I was very glad of her presence. I packed it carefully, locking into memory all of the beautiful lines, colors, and effects. But I couldn't delay selling it. My family needed the money too badly. I slowly began to walk the few miles toward the city market.  
  
It took a few hours to walk there, mostly because I dragged my feet heavily. Anna tried to cheer me up, and she was a big help, but I felt like, once again, I was chipping away at myself. Not a very pleasant feeling I can assure you. But finally we were there, and I could put it off no longer. I spread out a blanket, sat on it, and put my tapestry in front, spread out, and beautiful for all the world to see.  
  
Many people stopped to admire it, but they always passed on. I was wondering what could possibly cause this lack of interest. I didn't have to wait long for the answer. A stately lady, and her splendid daughter stopped to admire it.  
  
"Oh Julie, it's beautiful! Wouldn't it look fabulous in our hallway at home. Look, the colors would match beautifully, and the effect of the houses is so warm and friendly."  
  
"Mother please!" her daughter started scornfully. "It's a picture of simpleton homes. We couldn't put that on our wall, people would think we were simpletons as well. Come on, it's not fit for a grand house such as our own." She smiled at me maliciously and dragged her mother away.  
  
I must've looked like I was going to cry, for Anna put a hand on my arm sympathetically.  
  
"They don't know what they're talking about," She said firmly, "They're just snobs with nothing better to do but criticize obviously beautiful work. Don't let them get to you. Somebody will buy this today, how can they not? It's wonderful." I felt slightly better at her words, but she was wrong.  
  
Several more people made comments like the first one, and the tapestry was neglected. I sat out there for many hours, and the sun slowly sank below the horizon. Finally I couldn't stay out there any longer. Slowly I began to pack up the tapestry, but I felt horrible. Like Anna said, I poured out my entire being into my work, and when people insulted it, they insulted me to the core. I was a simpleton and not worthy of any grand establishments. I was nothing, pretty to look at but beyond that I was nobody. I finished packing and began to walk.  
  
Anna tried a few times to start a conversation but I was unresponsive, and eventually she stopped trying. A few minutes later I realized that my cheeks were cold. I put my hands up to them and was startled to find that they were wet. I was crying. Once realized I couldn't ignore it any more and great sobs wracked my body. I began to walk faster and faster until I was running. I nearly flew over the roads, a long, long time until I couldn't stand on my two feet anymore. I collapsed and let my sorrow overcome me. What use was there for me any more? It began to rain, and I looked up startled. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me and I turned around quickly...just to discover Anna, soaking wet, and panting. She stopped beside me and started to cough. I got up, concerned for my friend, and realized how inconsiderate I had been, and how silly. I was acting like a little girl. I shook my head and began to walk, supporting Anna, towards home.  
  
It took a while to reach home, and I was glad for the time. It was easier to reflect and think while walking. I decided that if people didn't like my tapestries I could make a dress. Certainly nobody could turn away from unique, beautiful dresses, and I could make them according to the fashion. This resolve strengthened me, and we reached home soon after. I dropped Anna off with a heartfelt apology but she shrugged it off and said that if it had been her she'd have done the same. I walked off to my house.  
  
The rain was still pouring, and I was soaked to the bone. I opened the door and found two very angry faces waiting for me.  
  
"Why weren't you home sooner!" Kitaya screamed at me.  
  
"While you were gone, having fun at the market, we had to make dinner, and clean the house. Oh you nasty little girl, you disgust me! Oh my beautiful hands, they're so raw." Melina lamented. She glared at me again and backhanded me hard across the face.  
  
"The next time you sell your wares at the market make sure you come home in time to make dinner!" Kitaya yelled before she slapped me on the other cheek. I caught myself from crying out but my cheeks stung from the blows. They began to heat up from all the blood rushing to my ears. I lost all sense of sound for a few seconds. I blinked, looked down, and realized I was dripping water onto the floor. Mud was resulting from where the water dripped and I looked at my sisters disgustedly. They cleaned? What liars! The floors were all dirty, there were things piled helter-skelter every which way, dishes were piled in the kitchen, and there were clothes strewn everywhere.  
  
"A present from us, for forcing us to make dinner and clean." My sister Melina sneered. Kitaya and her turned their backs on me, but Kitaya turned around to look at me.  
  
"And make sure this house is cleaned before you go to bed." She said sweetly before turning around again, yawning hugely for my benefit, and then walking to the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her.  
  
I wanted to scream in frustration. Couldn't they, for one second, swallow their hate and do something kind for me, or for my father? But they never would, they were too consumed by their own 'beauty' and charms to care about how much they hurt others. I would have went straight to the bedroom and slept without doing what they had told me, but I didn't want my father to have to wake up to this mess. So, tiredly, I began to work.  
  
It took a long, long time to finish that work, and by the end I could barely stand. I could see the sky starting to lighten before I dragged myself over to my bed. I fell upon it and was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.  
  
It seemed like five minutes later that I was awakened by my sister's screeching. Dawn had just barely come, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but my sisters poked at me until I was forced to get up. I felt like my entire head was swollen, and I could barely see. They shoved something into my hands and I looked down with a sigh and saw that my sisters had shoved my tapestry into my arms.  
  
"What is this still doing here!" Kitaya shrieked, "You were supposed to sell it yesterday, it shouldn't be here. Where's our money?!" her hand shot out, and before I could move she had it around my throat. Painfully she began to squeeze. I gasped for breath but could find none. I looked around wildly, but there was no help to come from Melina.  
  
Suddenly, mercifully, she stopped squeezing and I took in a few shuddering breaths. "Answer me!" Kitaya screamed shrilly.  
  
"The ladies at the market didn't want it. They said it wasn't fit to grace anybody's hall."  
  
"And they were right." Melina said softly, maliciously, "This is only fit for a pigsty. It's a horrible piece, and I can't believe you would even try to sell it. I want you to clean with this rag, scrub the floors with lye, and use this to do the scrubbing." I took a deep breath before I could look up. I believed them, my piece, my soul, wasn't fit for anything but a pigsty. A sob escaped me, but I covered it up with a cough.  
  
"You will begin some other piece today," Melina went on, still in that dangerously soft tone, "and you will finish it tomorrow. The day after you will sell it, and I don't want you to come home until it is sold. And I don't want to see you talking with that simpleton girl, she just distracts you. Now get up, get dressed, and begin your work." With that they walked out of the room, and I began to breathe easily again. I touched my throat where, just minutes ago, Kitaya could have taken my life. I shuddered and began to get dressed.  
  
Oh so sad! Ack! How can I do this to my own character? Well, I hope you enjoyed this very depressing chapter. I promise it will get better. And don't forget to review. It makes me very happy when I get reviews! 


	5. finding a useful plan

Hello! I'm so sorry for the lack of an update. I was very busy this past week, but I had every intention of finishing this chapter in time. Obviously that didn't happen, and to say sorry, I'm going to make this chapter longer than I was going to.  
  
To Naughty Little Munchkin, thank you for your help. You're right! I did say content, yikes! I would fix it, but I don't know how. And thank you for your suggestion about the lists; I'll try to be more careful about that. If you see anything else please let me know, I am always glad to receive suggestions. This is, after all, an exercise to make me a better writer.  
  
And thank you to everyone else who reviewed. You're all so nice, and I'm truly sorry for not updating sooner.  
  
  
  
Johnny  
  
  
  
I was spread out on the roof right then, my coat open, and bear fat exposed to the sun. I had been doing that a lot since I had first set eyes on Maria. She was a strong old woman, not in the sense of muscles and lifting hundred pound bricks though. Truth be told she was very frail in her old age, but she was strong internally. From the looks of her she was about seventy years old. Really she was only fifty. But her son had been born with a disease that affected him mentally, and physically. She had had one other child, a daughter named Claire who was perfectly healthy mentally and physically. Maria's husband had died long since (though I didn't know exactly when) and she had to work her fingers to the bone to support her son. Claire helped, but hardly anyone would give her work because she was the sister of a retarded man. This hardly mattered, but people will give any excuse to be cruel. Claire had no friends, and she spent her time taking care of her brother while her mother worked. She had been making eyes at one of the men near her home, but he couldn't do anything about it because, in the eyes of his family, she wasn't worth anything, and all of their children would be dumb, and worthless also. But they didn't see Claire crying every night, they didn't see Maria's bleeding hands after coming home from work, and nobody saw what I did in the son, Phillip's eyes. Everyone thought from his physical aspects, and from the babbling incoherent nothings coming from his mouth, that he was stupid, but I saw intelligence in his eyes. I saw frustration Everytime he tried to speak but nothing came out but nonsense. And I saw his tears at night. He cried for his sister, he cried for his mother's ruined hands, and he cried for the demise of the family, for surely the family couldn't continue if his sister didn't marry and have children.  
  
And so I lay upon the roof during the day, with my coat spread out around me so that the sun could shrink the fat, thinking, always thinking, about how to better their situation, for surely they needed some help. I didn't think that money could solve all of their problems however. For I was sure that, even if Claire had the biggest dowry of anybody in town, Paul's (for that was the name of Claire's love) family still wouldn't approve. And Phillip still would be thought of as dumb, and he would die in frustration, tears in his eyes. The trouble was, I didn't know what to do for them if not to give them money. What else could I do? What gifts could I give them? What wisdom could I share? And here was where I got stuck everyday. I couldn't help them until I figured out what I could do, but the trouble was, I didn't think I could do anything. It was perplexing.  
  
I had started to watch the family the night the little boy had led all of those people to my house, and the Mayor had made his threat. It was tricky at first, being stealthy and quiet, and I kept misjudging my size, for I still wasn't quite used to the coat. It was easier in the dark, though noises could be heard easier as well. But I discovered that being silent wasn't my problem, it was controlling my moves so that I didn't knock anything over, and calculating correctly how big a crevasse was, and determining if I could fit, and if so, if it would be a good hiding spot. I had been looking over just such a spot when I had heard the gentle crying of someone. I looked and saw Maria, in tears, wrapping her bleeding hands with cloth, and walking fast in my direction, oblivious to everything around her. I would have been spotted if her eyes hadn't been so blinded by tears, and surely she would have tripped, or stumbled if the route she traveled wasn't a familiar one. This led me to believe that wherever she just came from, she had been to often.  
  
I followed her that night, very quietly, and with more care than I think I ever bestowed upon anything else in my life, apart from my mother's lessons. Apparently I succeeded, for she walked right to her house. By the time she got there she had controlled her tears, and nobody would have been able to tell that she had been crying. She opened the door, and immediately I heard exclaims of delight from her son, though I didn't know it was him at the time. He sounded both joyous, and sad, the emotions so raw and alive that they seemed to be speaking coherent words for him. Grief at his mothers' wounds, and joy that she had finally come home. Anguish at his sisters' ruined life, and joy because now she could be alone by herself for a while. I still don't know how that's possible, but that's what first led me to believe that he was intelligent. He could express himself through emotions, and in clever ways, but nobody else saw it because they weren't looking, and they took all of his carefully calculated gestures for granted, and people made fun of him. I heard a welcome from one of the sweetest voices I'd ever heard, or will probably ever hear again. Maria smiled and stepped inside to greet her children. I looked through the window and saw how happy they were in each other's company. I admit I was very taken with Claire at first glance, she looked to be about 20, a year younger than I was at the time. She was fair to look upon, but seemed troubled. She kept glancing at the rear wall, but it seemed more like she was looking through it. I went around the house to see what was there, and I saw another house. Two people were outside. One was a man that looked slightly older than I, and a very angry looking OLD man. The youth kept looking at Maria's house, and I guessed then that he and Claire were in love. I must admit, I felt a twinge of disappointment then, but I ignored it.  
  
I watched the little family closely after that, and I kept an eye on Paul and Claire, and truly there is no doubt that they were in love. Which brings me back to my roof. While sitting there I reviewed all that I knew, everything I could do, and every talent that I possessed or might possess. The answer loomed in front of me, so obvious that I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before. I smacked myself in the forehead then vaulted to my feet. I ran to the front door, threw it open and spotted the little boy that I had 'helped' before. I called to him, and he came to me willingly, obviously not fazed by my hideous appearance any more.  
  
"Can you take a message to someone for me?" I asked him excitedly. He looked unsure for a second, and then nodded his agreement. "Good," I explained to him where Maria's house was located then got right down to the point, "I want you to tell her that I am a doctor, well known in all parts of the world, and that I heard about her son's condition and would dearly love to speak to him. Can you remember that?" he nodded earnestly, caught up in my excitement, "Wonderful. When she says yes, and I don't want you to take no for an answer, tell her to bring him straight away to my house here. Do whatever it takes to get her affirmative, I don't care what. Offer her money if you have to, just get him here."  
  
He gave me a quick smile before he dashed off, running faster than I'd ever seen, his little legs churning under him.  
  
I've never been a very patient person when I'm excited, and I was so sure that I would be successful that all I wanted was to get started. I had to make the device first but...  
  
Of course you don't know what I'm talking about. Seemingly I'm just rambling, but I'm not ready to relinquish my brilliant plan yet. At that moment I was writing a message to a carpenter, the same carpenter who sold me the furniture for my house in fact. I was so excited that my usually beautiful, flowing script, was sloppy, and shaky, but it was readable so I didn't care.  
  
I had this note in hand, and was pacing the floor with impatience when the little boy came and knocked upon my door. I never did learn his real name, but for the sake of this story we'll just call him Jake. So Jake came and knocked upon my door. I opened it in a hurry, and he smiled at me with the widest smile I'd ever seen. Something in his expression made me grin back. Obviously he'd been successful.  
  
"Can you handle one more message today?" I asked him. He thought about it for a second, then grinned and nodded. "Fantastic!" I gave him my note, and told him where to drop it off. He ran in that direction with as much energy as before. I grew tired just watching him. I looked around at my house, and started tidying up. I'm not a very messy person by nature, so there wasn't much to do, but I felt better doing something.  
  
About an hour passed by, it seemed like ten years. Finally there came a knock upon the door. I looked out and saw Maria. I turned but couldn't see Phillip. It alarmed me for a second, but then I looked down and realized that she had rolled him to my door in a chair with wheels. I almost laughed at the site, but knew it would alarm her. I cracked the window a little bit and heard her gasp then whirl in the direction of the window. Luckily there was a curtain.  
  
"Hello Ma'am," I began, a little anxious now that the time had come. She looked startled at my voice, but as it's quite a nice voice she didn't seem alarmed. "My name is doctor...uh...Bearskin, I sent my messenger to you. Hello there Phillip." His head turned somewhat at the sound of his name, but his mother didn't notice.  
  
"Why don't you come out and meet me?" She asked suspiciously. I didn't blame her for being wary.  
  
"I'm afraid that I cannot reveal myself until I've had a chance to diagnose your son. You'll understand when the time comes, but until then I pray you to trust me, little as you know of me, and trust that your son is in good hands."  
  
She sniffed, obviously not willing to leave her beloved child in my care, but Phillip let out one of his wonderful emotion-filled cries, and it's meaning was obvious. He would stay. His mother was swayed by it, though she still didn't realize that he had 'spoken' to her. She glanced at the window, unsure. Then she glanced at her son. Maria sighed, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head, distressed at having to make this very important decision. She straightened her back, her decision obviously made, and I crossed my fingers for luck.  
  
"This man is the most precious thing in my life. If you do anything, and I mean ANYTHING to harm him, I'll kill you." The look in her eyes said it wasn't an empty threat. I gulped, but I wasn't going to do him any harm so I wasn't really scared of the threat. "As it is," She continued, "I don't know why I'm doing this, but if you can help my son, I pray you do." She took one last look at the window, and then kissed her son on the cheek. She turned around and began to walk back toward her home. I admired her bravery.  
  
I waited until she was obviously well out of sight before I chanced talking to Phillip.  
  
"Phillip, I know you can hear me. Don't be alarmed. I'm going to go out there and bring you in. I look very distressing though. Please don't be frightened. I won't hurt you." He turned his head in my direction, and the answer in his eyes was obvious. He didn't object.  
  
I opened the door and took a step outside. I could see that he was still calm and unconcerned. Boosted by his courage I went around and wheeled his chair inside. Phase one of my brilliant plan had now begun.  
  
  
  
Sabina  
  
  
  
On the appointed day of my sister's menacing threat, I stood before the path towards town, a lovely dress in my hands. It looked perfectly fine, and beautiful on the outside, and the embroidery was exquisite. Everything looked flawless, until you got close that is. The seams weren't perfectly straight, and you could clearly see a few stains that bore the resemblance of dried tears. The inside had a few scraggly ends, and one arm was somewhat crooked. If I could get someone to buy it without inspecting it too heavily, it would pass for a very fashionable, lovely, bell-of-the- ball type gown.  
  
It had been hard to get rid of my tapestry. I couldn't use it as a rag, I simply couldn't. And I couldn't be friends with Anna anymore either. Melina had made it perfectly clear that if she caught us together she would let Kitaya finish what she had started in the bedroom. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I begged one more conversation with my friend, on the condition that it would be neither lengthy, nor for any other purpose but to say goodbye. Melina agreed reluctantly, but she couldn't say no to watching what would obviously be a heartbreaking moment for me.  
  
I had gone over to her house, knocked tentatively on the door, half wishing she was home, half praying that she wasn't. Anna opened the door herself, and I felt like the worst person in the world as I saw her face light up at seeing me there.  
  
"Sabina! I was just about to go out to meet you on the front porch, to help you with that dress you were talking about." She smiled at me, and I started to feel depressed.  
  
"I wouldn't have been there." I told her slowly, the words sticking in my mouth. "I've come to give you my tapestry, I know how much you love it, and nobody else would want it." I thrust it in her hands, trying to block it's view from my sisters who were watching this encounter very closely. "I'm sorry to tell you, but I won't be working out in the front yard anymore. I feel that it is important that I work among the plants in my garden."  
  
"Good!" Anna exclaimed excitedly, "I've been wanting to work in your little garden, and you've truly made it look like a paradise. I'll go get my shears, and a pair of gloves. Be right back!" before she could turn fully around I caught her arm and pulled her back.  
  
"I'm sorry but you can't come. Maybe someday, but not now. Do you understand?"  
  
She shook her head, and I could see tears gathering, and I couldn't watch anymore. I turned my back on her and felt a tear trickle down my own cheek. "I'm sorry," Here I gave one uncontrolled sob, trying to regain my composure I took a deep breath, "This is just the way it has to be. Only for a little while." I gave another sob, and couldn't keep the tears back any longer. I started to run back to my house, heart-broken, for she had been my only friend, and one true sister.  
  
It had taken me every waking hour of the past two days to finish the dress that I had in my hands. It was tear blue, and there were little raindrops embroidered on the bodice. I would have kept it at that, but my sister said that it looked too forlorn, so I put small, delicate birds weaving throughout the droplets. It didn't help the mood of the dress much though. There were little designs in the neckline, and hemline that suggested a deep sadness. I noticed, but my sisters didn't. They said that it looked mysterious and alluring, but what did they know? I just hoped that I could sell it. I knew that if I didn't Melina would sick Kitaya on me, and no amount of parental intervention would help my case. Melina had told me that I could stay past dinnertime though, if I absolutely needed to. There was a dangerous tilt to her head that told me that she wouldn't be at all happy if I did, and I worried so much about my how I would be received that night that I made dinner, and put it in a pot, so that all Kitaya, and Melina would have to do is heat it up. Feeling much better about my chances of survival when I came back, I set out, my head facing the ground, and the dress carefully shielded from the tears that made tiny streams down my dirt smudged cheeks.  
  
It took me a long time to walk to the market. Too long. And when you have time on your hands, all you can do is think, but I didn't want to think because then I would start crying again, and I was afraid that if I started, I'd never be able to stop. Make no mistake, I had tears streaming down my face, but so far I wasn't a sobbing, nose-running wreck. I doubted anyone would buy a dress from someone who would look that bad, and I dearly wanted to live, though at the time I didn't know why. I knew I wouldn't if I returned with the dress in my arms, and my pockets empty. So I trudged on, singing to myself in my mind to keep my thoughts from dwelling on any specific incident.  
  
Finally I arrived. The first thing I did was wipe my face on my apron to wipe away as much dirt as I could. I was grateful for my tears then because they provided the necessary water for washing. And strangely they stopped running after my face was clean (or at least, as clean as I could get it under the circumstances). I then spread out the same blanket that I had used the time before, having to blink away the tears that threatened to spill again at the memories of the last time I had used that blanket. I sat down and laid the blue dress on my knees so that it would be slightly raised and show off the embroidery sufficiently.  
  
I got a much better review this time, but still everyone who looked just passed by. I began to be discouraged, and then I saw the same lady as last time, her daughter in tow. This time it was the girl, Julie, who squealed in delight. She snatched the dress up off of my lap, and began to examine the embroidery. I was glad that the sun was bright and hid the dress's imperfections. I was filled with hope, thinking that the girl would buy the dress, and I could go home. That's not what happened. Her mother intervened, saying that she had too many dresses already, and what would she want with a dress made out of coarser fabric than many of the ones that she already had. The girl argued, saying that she had never seen such beautiful embroidery.  
  
"Nonsense!" The mother scolded her daughter. "Why we've a much better seamstress at home. And ours was brought up a seamstress, unlike this poor ragamuffin. Now put that filthy thing down so we can continue."  
  
I began to lose hope, but Julie would not fail me. "I'll do no such thing!" She cried out shrilly. "I think that this is a beautiful design, and I've never seen such a style of dress as this one, but it is plainly beautiful. I won't put it down."  
  
I could see the mother getting impatient with her daughter, and the sun was hot and uncomfortable, and she certainly didn't want to stand out in the sun all day, ruining her perfect ivory skin. "Oh very well Julie. I admit that the design is very beautiful. But it is still very raw, and the material is of poor quality. I will not let you buy this dress. However, if you must have this girl as your seamstress so be it. NOW will you come?" The mother's tone was plaintive, and I could see Julie smirking. I didn't like how they were planning out my future without my consent, but in their eyes I was no better than a bug. A bug that happened to be useful to them, so why not keep it? I have never been so humiliated. I would have gotten up and left, but the notion had only touched my mind when I felt Kitaya's hand around my throat again, and I knew that whatever these ladies planned, I'd have to go along with it.  
  
"Agreed!" Julie cried out triumphantly. She snapped her fingers and a very large man came out of the shadows. I hadn't seen him at all, and I was so startled that I jumped back. He smiled at me, and I didn't like the way his smile reached his eyes. It was cold, cruel, malicious, and I was so paralyzed by him, that when he moved toward me I couldn't move. He grabbed me by the back of my dress and hauled me to my feet. My feet touched the ground, but only for a second. He kept lifting me until my feet were dangling a good foot off of the floor. He was only using one hand, and I could see that his muscles weren't even straining a little bit, and I was terrifyingly sure that he could keep me there for a while.  
  
"Well, how about it?" Julie asked me, peering at her nails as if they were the most entertaining things she had ever seen in her life. She flicked off an imaginary speck of dirt, and her casual movements told me that she wouldn't hesitate to keep me there all day until I had consented. I gulped, feeling sweat trickle down my forehead, and down my back. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to speak, I gave a short nod.  
  
"Good!" she exclaimed, and with another snap of her fingers I was suddenly released. My feet hit the floor unexpectedly, and with a great THUD! I felt something snap, and the most excruciating pain lanced up my right leg. I cried out from the pain, and Julie looked reprimandingly at the man beside her.  
  
"Brock, how many times do I have to tell you to LOWER them to the ground first?" She gave a very practiced sigh, "Pick her up and set her on her feet." Looking at me she said, "You don't know how many times this has happened. Don't worry, only a few of them had to lose their legs to it. The pain will last for a few weeks, but after that it will heal and you'll be completely better.  
  
Now," She continued, as if I wasn't standing in front of her with a broken ankle, the blood rushing out of my face, and trembling violently. "I expect you to be at my manor at exactly twelve o'clock tomorrow. Go that? TWELVE O'CLOCK. If you're late there will be consequences. Don't worry about bringing anything; I'll have it all for you. You'll be paid after every dress you finish to my satisfaction. I won't pay for anything I don't like." She turned around as if to leave, then turned back to me suddenly with a repentant look on her face. "I'm sorry..." My breath caught in my throat. An apology? From someone like Julie? I was stunned, but I had hope that she would tell me that she had changed her mind. "...I forgot to tell you where my manor is." She giggled, and I began to think she was insane. "It's that one." She said, pointing down the street, and I had a picture in my mind of Anna saying those exact words. A pang went through me, but I straightened. I couldn't think of that now, and obviously the wise decision would be to go along with this. After all, I didn't want to be killed.  
  
Julie gave Brock a significant look and he moved back into the shadows until I couldn't see him any more. She then grabbed her mother's arm and began walking back through the market. I shuddered, suddenly cold despite the intense heat coming from the sun overhead. I would have lingered, but I could feel Brock's eyes on me, and I didn't like the idea of him guarding his mistress's useful bug-like seamstress. I turned around, took a step toward home... and gasped at the intense pain coursing up my leg as if I had jammed a knife in it and started jiggling. I could feel my ankle jiggling the wrong way, and I wondered how I would ever get home in time...  
  
I know I said that this chapter would be less depressing, and it was! For Johnny at least, but poor Sabina has it hard. Don't you hate it when bad things happen to good people? Well, anyway, please review. I was going to add more information this chapter, but I didn't realize how much explaining I was going to have to do. And it was either this, or wait longer for this chapter. Somehow, I figured you'd all prefer it this way. Lol. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and have a nice day. 


	6. The Journey Begins

Hello All! Sorry that it has taken me soooooo long to update. I hope that this never has a chance to happen again, but while it has all I can do is apologize from the very depths of my heart. Although I did update once before, you just missed it. All except dragonfirechic. Thank you so much for your help, I'll take your advice as soon as I have time. In the meantime, since you wanted it so much, this extra super long chapter's dedicated to you. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Johnny  
  
  
  
I admit I was nervous. So nervous that I felt sweat trickling down my back, and my palms were wet. I didn't like this because I knew that sweat stank, and if I was to be in this coat for seven more years, the less I did to stink it up the better. I knew that my thoughts were just a distraction to keep my mind off of the task at hand. I felt so incompetent, and a complete fool for trying to change this mans life with my miniscule knowledge.  
  
At the point that I thought I would explode from my inefficiency, Phillip made one of his wonderful, emotion filled cries. It seemed he was angry with me for taking so long to talk to him, and hurt that I would not help. That snapped me out of my reverie, and while I was still nervous, at least I was willing to begin.  
  
I cleared my throat nervously, feeling Phillips impatience like a wait. "Uh...Well. Yes. Phillip there's no easy way to say this, but I have been observing your family for some time now. I know quite a bit about you, but first and foremost, I know that you can understand me. I feel horrible about your situation and I have resolved to do all in my power to help." Phillip made a dismissive noise, as if he knew all of this and could I please get on with it? I grinned in spite of myself, not really surprised that he should know such things. "Phillip, do you know how to read?" I could tell that he had some trouble figuring out how to answer. His lips moved slightly, and I could tell that he was trying to form words to answer. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead and he made small frustrated noises, still trying with all of his might to answer properly.  
  
"No, no Phillip. It's okay, just make a noise and I will take it for a yes." He stared at me, not trying to make any noise whatsoever. That was a no. "Well, what would you say if I said I could teach you?" He made an unflattering noise in the back of his throat. Stupid question. 'What would you say?' come on now! I knew I was smarter but I had never faced a man like this one. I just needed to get my bearings right.  
  
"Never mind that Phillip. I can teach you to read, that's the important thing, and I can give you a way to communicate perhaps. But first I have to know. Do you have any control of your limbs at all? Even a little bit. Just show me if you can."  
  
He looked at me slowly, reluctantly. I saw his left arm quiver slightly. I would have discounted it, but a moment later I saw it quiver again, this time more noticeable. Slowly his arm rose, slowly, slowly. Sweat beaded his forehead, and I could tell that he was concentrating very hard. He got his arm up to eye level, and slowly started to rotate it in the air.  
  
About half way to completing the circle his arm dropped with exhaustion. I could see that he was breathing heavily from the effort, wheezing, his breath coming in gasps and whistles as if he had run a marathon. He looked up at me, victory written all over his face, and I wanted to cry because I took it for granted that I could do all of that within a second, with hardly any effort at all. I didn't cry though, I grinned at him and said, "Oh well done Phillip! Well done!" He looked so proud then, and I wondered how many compliments he'd gotten in his life.  
  
I rubbed my hands together, becoming more confident with my plan. And after Phillips show I realized that a lot of work could be bypassed, and he would be able to communicate faster than I'd hoped, assuming he was a fast learner.  
  
Oh he was! He had such a thirst for knowledge, he absorbed everything I taught him with such vitality, and such joy that I couldn't help smiling at him. He was smart, no doubt about it, and he learned the letters without problem. And words made sense to him. I felt that I hardly had to instruct at all. He did it all perfectly.  
  
Of course it wasn't easy to figure out how to teach him. He couldn't sound out any of the letters, he couldn't point to them, and he couldn't say them. This certainly made it hard, but we were persistent and finally I found a method that worked. I couldn't help feeling that he helped me to it however. I got an old chalkboard and a piece of smooth white chalk to write with. At the beginning I would write out the letters and ask him "Is this a 'B?'" and he would look me straight in the eye without flinching. No. "Good, is it an 'M?'" A loud triumphant noise. Yes! "Absolutely correct! You're smarter than I am Phillip!"  
  
Soon it became "Does this say 'Cat?'" Stare. "Good, does it say 'Dog?'" Loud noise. "Wonderful!!!"  
  
Not long after he was completing sentences, and reading everything he could get his hands on. He thirsted after words like a dying man after water. I was so caught up in his enthusiasm that I never noticed the days pass, I hardly noticed anything except to eat, and to sleep, and Phillip seemed to want to ignore those necessities to learn more.  
  
Now you're wondering why I bother to teach him to read if he can't speak any of the words, or write them on paper. Truth was that would drill him on his words and letters while working on a machine. I think I've mentioned that in my youth I loved to work with wood, and build anything I could. Well, I became quite adept at it, and I had an idea for a machine that would allow him to speak to others. I was building a long wooden trough. On top of it were twenty-six long, slender tubes. Connected to each tube was a small release paddle, and a wooden slide that led to the trough. It was brilliant, and I knew that when the carpenter was done with my order, it would work beautifully, and without fault. I didn't tell Phillip what it would do, but I think he suspected, and every time I worked on it, or everytime he looked at it he seemed to grow more excited.  
  
I was drilling Phillip on his vowels when a thought came to me. A flaw in my brilliant plan. I groaned at my stupidity. "Phillip," I asked frantically, "Can your mother or Claire read or write?" Unblinking stare. I groaned louder this time. What use would all of this be if nobody could read what he spelled? I slapped my hand to my forehead, but Phillip tried to cheer me up with soothing noises. He even wiggled his left arm a bit. That usually made me happy to see the small mobility he had. Nothing this time. I sighed and put the only conclusion I could to this problem. I'd have to teach Claire, and Maria too. I was sure that they'd do just fine in this subject, but I didn't like being around regular people for long anymore. Being around Phillip was one thing. He knew how it was like to be different, but I didn't like the idea of the stares I'd receive. Well, there was no help for it; I would do it for my friend. There was nothing I could do then however, and I continued with my lesson.  
  
That day I finished the wooden contraption, and Jake came with my order all wrapped up in a bag. This cheered me up a little. I waited till Phillip fell asleep, and then I picked up the bag from where I'd hidden it under a chair. I opened the drawstring and took out one of the small wooden chips. It was completely square and smooth. It was a beautiful Dark wood. Cedar. It smelled wonderful, and on the front, carved in a careful hand then filled in with pure gold, was a perfect, shining letter 'O.' It looked like it would fit in a king's palace, but it would fit perfectly, and I thought that Phillip deserved such beauty. I found the right tube and then carefully put the 'O' inside. It made a small wooden noise when it landed, but it wasn't loud enough to wake Phillip. I took the many many other letters out of the bag and placed them in the right tubes. They all fit beautifully, and each looked perfect. I was so proud of my achievement. I pushed down the peddle on the tube that was marked 'A' and a shining golden chip of wood fell out of the tube, onto the wooden slide, and into the wooden trough. Perfect. It took hardly any effort at all, and even with Phillips limited movement of his left hand, he would be able to push the pedals, and his family would be able to help arrange them into words. It would take longer than talking, but it would be the first communication anybody would get with Phillip, and I was proud.  
  
I went to sleep soon after, but I kept waking up, excited for the moment Phillip would wake up and see that the wooden creation was completed.  
  
I awoke to delighted cries from Phillip. He was yelling loudly, and I laughed, and smiled so broadly I thought my cheeks would split. When he was quiet for a second, I showed him how it worked. He was eager to try. I set it up in front of him, and he began to pump out letters. My design wasn't perfect, and I had to arrange the letters in the order that he pumped them, but still we were communicating. I was full of joy.  
  
THANK YOU, Phillip wrote slowly.  
  
"It was my infinite pleasure Phillip. The greatest pleasure I've ever had. You know that we'll have to send for your mother today don't you?"  
  
I UNDERSTAND I AM EXCITED FOR HER TO SEE  
  
"I'll have to teach her to read first. You'll have to wait a while to be able to communicate like this."  
  
I HAVE WAITED A LONG TIME A LITTLE MORE WILL NOT KILL ME  
  
"I admire your patience. I'll go send for her." I walked to the door, a slight spring in my step. I began to whistle a tune happily, and opened my door, used to seeing Jake outside it, always ready to serve. My whistling cut off abruptly when I saw who was outside. The mayor's ugly face leered nearly nose-to-nose with mine. His nostrils were slightly flared, as though he smelled the worst odor ever but he was too much a gentlemen to say anything. I snorted, him a gentlemen? The idea was laughable. He backed away from my breath, his mouth turned down with disapproval.  
  
"I hear you've been entertaining a retard in your home."  
  
For the first time in my life I wanted to hit somebody. I'd had countless opportunities to hit my brothers, but I had never wanted to, even after all they did, but this man was even more insufferable, and I thought that I could hit him without feeling remorse about it. The thought of Phillip and his kindness stopped me, but I had the greatest desire to slam the door in his face. Instead I said, (quite calmly I thought), "What are you doing here?"  
  
He backed away from the icy tone in my voice, but the superior look on his face increased a hundred fold. "Gold." He answered me honestly. It was the no nonsense tone I heard in his voice that worried me. This man had given me an order (or at least what passed for one here) and he expected it to be obeyed.  
  
"I hear there's a lovely jewelry shop around the corner. Go buy some."  
  
I turned away, ready to close the door when I felt a surprisingly strong hand roughly grab my shoulder and turn me around. He slammed my back into the wall and his gaze pinned me there. I saw spittle flying from his lips as he snarled, "Do you really think you can put me off that easily?" He barked a laughter that had no amusement in it. "I don't think so." His hands shook my shoulders, and then slammed them against the wall again for good measure. "If you think that you can withhold from me what is mine by RIGHT, you have another thing coming."  
  
It was my turn to be angry. "Yours by right?" I snarled back. "Who made it your right. This is my home; whatever is in it is my business and no one else's. If you think that your words can scare me into acquiescence you are up for a big surprise. Now get out of my FACE!" I screamed, rage making me tear my teeth back from my lips in a most un-humanlike snarl. He backed up a little, looking a little scared but still determined.  
  
"I will not be put off." He whispered with quiet vehemence. "I will take what is mine, and this city is mine. You are in this city therefore you belong to me as well. Have a care lest you wake up one morning to find your throat slit, and your dear little retard friend with you." I didn't think. I pulled back my fist and hit him with everything I had, as hard as I could, and with all of my weight behind it. He went down with a thump, some of his teeth shattered from the blow, droplets of blood welling up from his lips. A satisfying crack symbolized the breaking of his nose, and already a slight dising arose from the swelling around it.  
  
I stalked into my house, rage radiating from every pore of my body. It was only after I slammed the door shut that I felt the faint throbbing in my hand. I looked down and saw that a chip of his tooth had embedded itself into the tender flesh between my index and middle finger. And my right ring finger looked odd. I unballed my fist and gasped from the sudden pain, tears welling up from my eyes. My finger was broken. Swelling had already started. I sighed. This is what I got for fighting.  
  
I walked into the kitchen and dunked my hand into the bucket of cold water on the table. It helped some. I know that I should feel sorry for my brash actions, but I think that, even if I had it to do all over again I would have done the same, maybe even worse. I felt no remorse except that my hand hurt. A lot.  
  
I decided to ignore it after yanking out the tooth (which hurt a LOT), and wrapping my hand with a piece of clothe. It would have to do.  
  
Cautiously I looked outside. Only a few drops of blood remained where the mayor had been. Further away Jake was playing with some friends. I whistled and he looked over, a sudden smile lighting up his features. He ran over as fast as his legs would carry him, and I told him what I wanted of him. He looked startled for a moment then shrugged and was off. I sighed and went back inside, regretting finishing Phillips talking device so soon. I was sure I would never hear the end of this.  
  
It turns out Phillip didn't even know what had happened, he hadn't heard any of it, and I felt no need to enlighten him of the recent events around my house. I had to make up a quick excuse for my hand though. I didn't want to lie, so I said as truthfully as I could, "My hand ran into something very hard. I'll be fine." Which was true. My fist had run into the mayors' fat head, and he had a very hard one. Phillip seemed to believe it. I left it at that, though it panged me to leave out so much of the truth.  
  
Phillip and I had our first real conversation that day, while waiting for Jake to return with Maria and Claire. I realized just how smart Phillip was then. I'd always known; he'd learned all of his words so quickly it was amazing. But I didn't realize exactly HOW smart he was. We talked about politics, religion, family, music, and everything to do with the arts, we even talked about girls! Who knew that all of that passion and knowledge was stored in such a man as he was? It was amazing, but I never once felt stilted in that conversation. Not once. He knew so many things I didn't. I learned more than I'd thought to. The only nuisance was that I had to wait a while for him to be able to pump the pedals, and then arrange the letters how he wanted. It was slower than I'd have wished, but better than not being able to talk at all, and I could see the profound joy on his face as he was finally able to communicate all of his thoughts, and feelings, and passions to the world. I asked him what it was like now. He told me something I don't think I'll ever forget:  
  
I FEEL LIKE A MAN WHO HAS FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME. I CAN BARELY BREATHE AND I DO NOT THINK I WILL BE ABLE TO EAT FOR SOME TIME. I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO SLEEP FOR DAYS I AM SO EXCITED. IF THIS IS INDEED WHAT LOVE IS LIKE THEN I WISH I COULD FEEL IT FOR SOMEONE. I WOULD CLIMB A MOUNTAIN NAKED IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT JUST SO I WOULD NOT LOSE THIS FEELING. I FEEL FREE. FINALLY.  
  
Even down on paper these words don't have the passion of the tiles, and the expression in the sounds he made, the raw passion, and I felt that I too would go to any lengths to feel that for someone. I was deeply moved, but later his words would come back to me in greater force than at that moment, one of the greatest moments in my life.  
  
I was knocked out of my reverie by a knock on the door. It was a brisk knock, and I knew without a doubt that it was Maria. My palms were sweating again, and I felt more nervous than that first time. What would Maria say when she saw me? What would Claire say? How would they receive me? Would they be willing to learn from a man such as I? I didn't know, but I wished with all of my might that I might know. I walked slowly towards the door, and would have taken longer but another forceful knock followed the first, and I thought that if I didn't answer soon she'd break the door down. I picked up the pace and reached the same window as before.  
  
"Hello again Maria." I said nervously, "And you as well Claire." She jumped at her name. She was looking more scared as the seconds went by.  
  
"Will you not come out to me this time as well?" Maria said exasperatedly. "I would look upon your face sir. I gave you a chance, a mighty big one I'd say, but I like this less and less the more you avoid showing yourself. Now come out here or I'll bring 'round the mayor and make HIM open your door."  
  
I cleared my throat noisily. "I have no intention of keeping you outside," I said calmly, "I would ask that you let yourself in, in a few seconds. Walk straight and you will come to the front room where you will find your son, and myself. Please don't be alarmed, I haven't hurt your son, and I don't plan to. I...well...I suppose it's better if you find out for yourself." I moved away from the curtain and heard Maria counting to five slowly so that I'd have time to get to the front room. I couldn't bring myself to face them in the doorway.  
  
I walked to Phillips chair and turned around. I kept making nervous movements with my hands, but I didn't want Maria to sense any fear in me so I put my left hand on the back of Phillip's chair. My right hand went behind my back. I did this very quickly, and a few seconds later I could hear sounds of feet coming in the hallway. My breath came quickly, like I had been running. It was an effort to slow my breathing and keep it easy, and I had to think about it to do so. I was so nervous. My feet were shifting as if they had a mind of their own.  
  
Finally Maria stepped into the room, her gasp when she saw me hit me like a brick. "Merciful Lord." She whispered fiercely. Claire came right on her heels, and I could see her jaw working, nothing coming out. Their feet looked glued to the floor. Phillip looked happy to see them, but puzzled why they wouldn't come and see him. It seems that he had forgotten my appearance after spending so much time with me.  
  
Somebody had to say something. I figured that I might as well put my head on the chopping block now, instead of waiting through all of that torture. I cleared my throat and Claire and Maria jumped a foot in the air. "I'm so glad that you could visit me in my home," I began unsteadily, but as I went along I began to gain confidence. "As you see, Phillip is in quite good condition, and I have taught him a few things." I looked at Phillip, wondering if he wanted to surprise them by pumping out the tiles, or if he wanted me to tell them straight out. His left hand moved a fraction of an inch. It pointed to his wooden tile dispenser. I knew what that meant.  
  
I walked over to it, making sure that I made no sudden movements lest I scare Maria and Claire more than they were already. Mostly they had looked astonished, rather than scared. I suppose that hearing my voice, and knowing that it was human, had shaken them. I slowly brought the tile dispenser to Phillip, and set it up in front of him. He looked up at his family, and pride shone from his eyes like a beacon. He would enjoy surprising them. He picked up his left hand and began to slowly move it over the wooden pedals, pressing them down one by one, calculating everything precisely. I arranged the letters in the order they were pumped out.  
  
Of course, Maria, and Claire couldn't read so I had to tell them what Phillip said. I saw shock on their faces at Phillips precise movements, even more so than when they had first seen me. "It says," I began, wondering if they would even hear me, "'Hello Mother, and Claire. Finally I can talk with you like I have been wanting to for so long." Maria's mouth dropped open, and I don't think the words had penetrated into Claire's mind yet she was so shocked.  
  
"He can understand us?" Maria asked me hoarsely. She looked at her son again, and disbelief ed her features. "I don't believe this. I believe that you are just doing this to be cruel. How DARE you give me false hope for my son! How DARE you do this to Claire? You are sick. You may have taught my son how to have some mobility, for which I am grateful, but that will not make you seem good in my eyes." She spat at me, rage marking her features, and deep sadness filling her eyes.  
  
I stood there, not knowing what to do, but Claire put her hand on her mother's arm. Her features still showed a touch of shock, but nowhere could I read disbelief. "Mother," She began, "I think he is telling the truth. When I have stayed with Phillip often I have wondered if he actually understands us. Please hear what this..." Here she stumbled a bit before cautiously choosing a word and looking over at me to see if it would offend, "...Man has to say."  
  
Maria looked like she would rather do anything BUT that, but right then Phillip let out one of his wonderful cries and Maria was silenced. She looked pensive for a moment, and then did a double take. She looked at Phillip, and some of the disbelief was washed from her face.  
  
I took this opportunity to explain some of the things I'd been teaching him. While I talked Phillip pumped out more letters. Almost unthinkingly I arranged them in the correct shapes, still explaining things to his family. After a pause I read Phillip's massage to them. He wanted to explain things as well it seemed. We were a pair then; I explaining things while Phillip pumped out more letters. As we talked (or rather, as I talked and Phillip spelled) I saw all of the disbelief change to amazed silence, to grudging acceptance.  
  
"...And so Phillip and I realized that the contraption we had made wouldn't work at all if nobody understood what he said still." I finished finally. I sighed with relief that I wouldn't have to talk anymore. I've never been shy, but I've always been quiet, and talking so much put me out of my comfort zone.  
  
"What do you want us to do?" This from Maria. Though she still looked wary of me, I could see a measure of respect in her eyes for what I'd given to her son. It made me embarrassed and I blushed. Fortunately the layers of dirt, and the beard and my wild hair hid my features, and they didn't see it.  
  
"Well...I, uh, I thought that perhaps I could teach you both to read and write." They looked shocked, and Claire looked scared, "Normally I wouldn't ask," I rushed on, desperate to convince them, "But this is to help my friend, and I wouldn't be able to stand it if, after all of his hard work Phillip still couldn't communicate with you."  
  
Maria looked as if she would rather stick her head into a lions open mouth than spend time with me in my house, especially if I wanted to teach her something. But she looked over at Phillip, and I saw the decision in her eyes even before she spoke it. "If I will be able to talk to my son I would do anything." She said with quiet vehemence in her eyes.  
  
I wanted to rejoice, to show Phillip victory, to shout, but I knew that they would run so I settled for a smile. "Let's get to work." I said.  
  
  
  
Over the next few weeks I taught them all I knew about the English language. They weren't as fast to learn as Phillip had been, but they studied carefully, and paid very close attention. They seldom had to have me repeat something I'd already said, and it was easier to teach them since they were able to sound things out, and give me positive feedback. Claire learned almost as fast as Phillip, but Maria had a little more trouble. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks," She said to me, sighing sadly. She asked me to give her extra lessons. I had watched her, and I knew her pride was what kept her going each day, so we worked out a schedule at night while the others slept. I got to know her a lot better during that time, and sometimes she made me laugh at her sarcastic remarks in regards to, well, everything. Because of these lessons she was always in the same lessons with her daughter. I think Phillip suspected, but he never said anything.  
  
Soon they were able to talk to Phillip, even if they had to sound out some of the words he used, and needed help with them sometimes. Phillip was always patient, and I helped as much as I could.  
  
Soon after that they would be engaged in long conversations, hardly ever calling to me for help, and soon after that their skills with the written word surpassed even mine. I was very pleased. I walked straighter in the day, and I still sat sometimes on the roof to shrink the fat, only sometimes Maria would accompany me and we would talk together, and let Claire and Phillip talk alone. I was very content and I wanted to stay there forever, but I remembered the mayor, and I had no wish to keep running into him. He made me angry too easily.  
  
It seemed that the family had only been with me a single day when they decided they should go back to their house in the poor part of town. I wanted to cry, but I knew Claire missed Paul, and I knew that they were eager to show the town how wrong they had been about Phillip. I saw them go with a large purse of gold apiece, and the promise that if they needed more all they had to do was ask. I asked them if they would come and visit me often, and they said of course, and Maria added that I would be a mindless dolt if I thought otherwise. I laughed like it was meant to make me do, and saw them go with tears shining in my eyes, certain that I'd just made my very first real true blue friends. I would miss them while they were gone.  
  
The days passed as slow as a snail after that. I was sure the house had never been that quiet. The best times were when Phillip, and Maria would come and visit me. Claire was too busy with the wedding arrangements to come herself, but she always sent her love. Of course, Paul's family was absolutely fine about the marriage after they had found a huge pile of gold on their doorstep with specific instructions to leave the two alone. I would smile to myself whenever I thought about that. I'd had to sneak very quietly to do it right. It was the most fun I'd had in a while. How sad is that?  
  
I was content with life, and I began to think that maybe I could stay there after all. The mayor hadn't done anything to me so far, and I began to doubt that he would. The months passed in such a fashion, and I helped people where I could, but I didn't attempt to get close to them. I didn't think I could stand to have another family take Phillip, Claire, and Maria's places in my house-that-had-somehow-become-my-home. I left piles of gold in the night. The exercise, and the night air lifted my spirits, and I thought that life had never been as fulfilling.  
  
The worst news was yet to come. Something happened that almost broke my spirits, and made me wish that I had killed the little green man the first second I saw him. I had gone to bed (on the floor of course) the night before with my spirits lifted so high I could have flown. I'd seen Phillip and Maria that day, and they had brought a wedding invitation from Claire with them. After that I realized that almost all of the bear fat had shriveled up to nothing, and that, in the morning it would probably all be gone. Also, I had just left a pile of gold on the doorstep of an orphanage, and had just stepped out of sight when the workers opened the door and found it. Their exclamations of joy filled my soul with happiness, and I felt that, even with the coat, the next few years would be good. Also, the next day would be the six-month anniversary of when I'd first got the coat. A whole half of a year had passed! It should have been a joyous occasion. It would have been. But, as with everything good that happened to me thus far, it all came crashing down around my ears when I woke up the next morning to the worst backache I'd ever had. I couldn't find a comfortable position, and when I looked down at the coat I could have cried, indeed I almost did.  
  
The bear fat was back.  
  
I groaned aloud. The supposed stoop in my shoulders was back, and I looked even more monstrous than before. It was some kind of north magic I was sure, and I wanted to die. The pain was intense, and my back felt slimy from the bloody juice that ran down my skin, making little rivulets that sometimes crossed the ones from the first time I'd worn the coat. I looked for a knife, but I remembered just in time that if I died my soul went to the green man. There was no escape, and I was trapped in a life of my own choices. I huddled in a chair and told myself I wouldn't move for a century.  
  
I've never been very patient, and I couldn't sit there very long. I went back outside and threw my coat open to the sun. The smell reminded me of the bear when the green man incinerated it. I wanted to be sick, but I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stayed where I was. I clenched my teeth and stayed there, almost going to sleep, but the horrible smell averted me, soaking up all of my attention to the point where I couldn't concentrate on anything else but not throwing up. A noise alerted me to the presence of others above me.  
  
I was so startled I nearly opened my eyes, but some of my soldier training kicked in, and I stayed in exactly the same pose as I had been in for so long, not showing any sign that I had heard. I kept repeating 'please let it be Maria, please let it be Maria,' over and over in my head so many times it became a sort of chant. I opened my eyes a bare crack, small enough where I could see faintly blurry shapes, but not enough where it would alert them that I was awake. I use them because there were at least ten of them, all surrounding me, and now that I was listening I heard faint noises in my house. There was a loud crash from down below suddenly, and I heard one of the people near me shuffle their feet and say quietly to one if his companions, "I thought you told me they would be careful. You're supposed to be the best. Act like it." The voice nearly made me jump again, though I don't know why I was surprised. It was the mayor. A voice near my right said, just as quietly, "I am the best, the man that made that noise will find a fate like this one's, though perhaps gentler. I am not altogether a heartless man."  
  
My voice caught in my throat. Surely they were talking about me. And from the sounds of it I wouldn't like the fate that this man talked so casually about. I heard cold steel in his voice, and an emotionless reserve to rival the best diplomat. I had no doubt that this man could give me a fate worse than death and not even blink an eye. I couldn't die though. I refused to let the green man win, and death would accomplish nothing whatsoever.  
  
I gathered in my strength, and jumped up, startling the frightened men surrounding me. They all jumped up, all except the captain of the group whose slight widening of his eyes was the only sign of surprise that he allowed himself. He slowly got up, as if he was just getting up from a delightful day at a picnic. However, the double bladed sword he wore definitely didn't belong at a picnic. I didn't fear them, but I cringed at the thought that some of these men would die at my hand.  
  
I rushed at the man to my right, punching him in the middle with one hand while the other smoothly took his sword out of its sheath, drawing it across his stomach in one smooth motion, leaving a fine red line wherever it touched. That line slowly grew thicker, and that man fell at my feet, eyes wide open with surprise, and fright. I slammed the hilt down on his head, knocking him out cold. One down, nine to go.  
  
The next few moment passed in a blur of cold steel, red blood, and ruined flesh. The smells sickened me, but it was all very familiar to me now, after spending so long in the army. I was used to the spilled blood, and the screams of dying men. I didn't like it any better now than I did then, in fact this time it was worse. Facing monsters from the north had been bad, but they had been MONSTERS. These were men, my own species, and their blood sickened me. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity only two men were left standing. The mayor, and the Captain of this group of assassins. The captain made a move toward me, and I stepped up to the challenge. He looked pleased that I knew my way around a sword. The slightly bored, aristocratic look left his face, and he grinned with pleasure as steel met cold steel. We circled around each other in a dance of swords, blades whipping, hair twirling, and arms bulging from the hard blow of sword on sword. As we went his grin kept getting wider and wider. We were perfectly matched. We would keep going until we both died from exhaustion, but I knew I would never gain ground on him, and he knew that he would never gain ground on me. He laughed, a laugh of pure delight and signaled for me to put my sword down as he did the same.  
  
"You fight well doctor Bearskin, for a man of your stature. I salute you." His sword raised slightly in the soldier's salute to an equal. Then he laughed again, "I haven't had that much fun for ages, I would love to face you again someday, in friendly combat. For now though," He sheathed his sword and put his hand into his pocket, searching for something. He came up with a small purse that jingled merrily...and threw it down at the mayor's feet, "I and my men will leave your home, taking this bucket of slime," He raised his hand slightly to indicate the mayor, "With us. If ever you are in need of a friend, Bearskin, just call and I will come to your aid." With that he turned on his heel -every line of his body saying how amused he was- and grabbed the mayor, forcing him out. A few blurred shouts echoed from the door on the flat roof, and immediately there were sounds of retreating footsteps.  
  
I just stood there stunned, sword tip touching the top of the roof. After a while I looked down and realized that the rest of the assassins that I had dispatched were gone as well. I began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. My back still hurt, and I still smelled human blood, mixed with rotting bear flesh, but I realized that I had just made another friend, strange as he was indeed.  
  
I also realized that I couldn't stay in this place, pleasant as it was. Eventually greed overcame everyone, and an everlasting store of it living in one town would eventually find me with a knife in my back. I sighed, but knew that my decision was the right one.  
  
I stayed long enough to go to Claire's wedding before I packed my things and prepared to leave. My last meeting with Phillip, Maria, Claire, and even Paul was a tearful one, but filled with joy as well. I handed over the keys to my home to them. I had spent all that morning dumping out handfuls of gold till you couldn't walk in the room that had used as a bedroom without sliding all over the gold. It would last them enough time to live however they wished for the rest of their lives, and probably Claire, and Paul's children's lives.  
  
I spent only a little time with them, accepting their thanks before I picked up my small pack of necessities and making my way outside. My last request before I left was, "Please, pray that I live for another six and a half years." They assured me that they would pray for me to live for a hundred. I thanked them and began to walk.  
  
I didn't meet anyone on my way to the edge of town. I was very thankful for that. The idea of walking away while the sun still shone didn't seem as good now as it had when I'd left. I was sure that if I met anyone I would go back to the-place-that-used-to-be-my-home and wait till dark, and I couldn't afford to wait that long. I'd stayed much too late already.  
  
  
  
From that day I stayed at many towns, none for longer than a few weeks. My time spent there was used helping people, and the only thing I asked them to do was pray for me to live until the deadline was up. They always assured me they would, and I was always on my way out just in time to avoid that inevitable knife in the back. As I went I discovered that I could do things that I never could before I'd gotten the coat. Things like knowing when someone was in the same room, or on the same street with me. I discovered that I could write letters to people like Maria, and Phillip and send them away with the blink of an eye, and letters from them came back just as fast. I never once suspected that it could be my own sort of magic, but put it down to having a coat made by someone from the north. I was contented with my life. I grew used to the stench that followed me around wherever I went. I grew used to hair as long as a girls, and a beard so thick I felt the itch even in my dreams. I grew used to my boots being open at the toes so that my long toenails could poke out. I grew used to having the fat come back every six months like clockwork. I grew used to a lot of things, but I couldn't grow used to the feeling of always being alone, always having nobody there in the mornings when I woke up. I had made many friends, but they couldn't come with me, and it wasn't the same. Girls had used to flock to me, and now most of them ran screaming. I lost my old name, forgot it really. I became Bearskin, and everyone prayed for my safety for at least seven years. The days passed, and soon they were praying for six, and then five, and then only four. It was in the middle of my third year that I finally came into a town where a renowned seamstress worked her fingers to the bone to make the most beautiful dresses imaginable and got paid next to nothing for all of her work. It was there that I meant to stay for a while. It was there where this story REALLY begins.  
  
  
  
Sabina  
  
  
  
I stood in the middle of the street gasping from the pain in my broken ankle, knowing that Brock was watching me. I had to get out of there, and I knew that it would hurt. I clenched my teeth together hard. My jaw hurt from the effort. I took another step on my good leg, then hop-skipped on my other, spending as little time on it as possible. I did this for some time, keeping my teeth clenched to avoid screaming and making a scene. I got out of the market at the pace of a snail. My strength was waning fast from the effort, and I was already weak from all of the crying, and sewing till dawn that had taken over my sleep. I had to carry my dress with me, and I could barely lift it.  
  
Twilight was fast approaching as I made my slow way out of the city. I reached the gates just in time to get outside before they closed. I walked along in silence except for the small gasps I made every once in a while when the pain got too bad. I'm sure I was as pale as a ghost, and meanwhile it was beginning to get scarily dark. I would not have minded but walking in the dark was dangerous with two whole feet, and I only had one. If I broke that one too I'd have to crawl home, and I was going slow enough as it is. I spied a well-shaped tree branch on the ground that would do fairly well for a crutch. It looked sturdy enough, and the top was split in two. I put my right arm in between the split and leaned all of my weight upon the limb. It wavered dangerously but held.  
  
I was able to walk a little faster after that, if a little more stooped. The dress began to get in my way, and my arm was starting to hurt so I put the dress in between the branch also, which created a nice padding for my shoulder. I went as fast as I could under the circumstances, but it was still too slowly to suit me. Normally the trip to and from town took a long time. This was taking FOREVER. I couldn't see the hand in front of my face after a while, but still I walked.  
  
I felt like collapsing several times, but the thought of Kitaya's punishments kept me going. Meanwhile my ankle still jiggled painfully, and my head began to swim with exhaustion. I was painfully aware of every single pebble under my feet, every dip and curve in the road, every sleep induced stumble that I made along that trip. Meanwhile a fuzzy black cloud began to obscure my vision. The more I walked the more the black cloud fuzzed in. I had to concentrate hard to pick up my tired feet and put them down ahead of me. The crutch began to bend more as I needed to put more and more of my weight on it to support myself.  
  
An hour passed, and soon I was so numb all over that I could barely feel anything at all, much less my broken ankle. I stumbled more, and the stick was in a perpetual curve against my side from all of the weight on it. My vision was reduced to pinpricks; the black cloud had taken the rest. It didn't matter. I couldn't see anyway. Another hour passed. I suddenly felt very odd, like I wasn't moving anymore. A sharp pain stabbed my knees as the crutch finally broke and I fell onto the hard gravel. The black cloud invaded my skull, and exhaustion finally won the fight. My last thought before losing consciousness was 'I hope Kitaya finishes me quickly.'  
  
  
  
There was a whuffing noise in my ear, and the right side of my face was very wet and sticky. I was cold. I heard a dog bark right in my ear, and I pushed myself up with a groan. A huge black Labrador stood over me, tongue lolling happily. It seemed to grin at me, and then licked my face again for good measure. I wiped off all of the doggie spittle, then stood in a panic as I realized how late it was. That proved to be a mistake as all of the blood rushed to my broken ankle, and I reeled for a moment before the world steadied around me.  
  
The sun was already a quarter of the way up. I only had about two hours to get to Julie's house, and I knew that I couldn't do it. Not with my foot the way it was, not even if it was completely whole could I have made that good of time. It was either go home and endure Kitaya's tortures, or head back for town and endure Julie's tortures. I decided to go home. Julie couldn't possibly know where I lived, and if I disappeared for another day my father would worry, and Melina, and Kitaya both would participate in my death. I didn't know what Julie would do, but I would rather face a known threat than one I wasn't yet sure of.  
  
I took a step in the direction of my house and screamed with pain. Tears streamed down my eyes. The pain was worse than the day before. I collapsed to the ground again.  
  
I dragged myself off of the road and behind a convenient tree. There I lifted my skirt to look at my feet. One was dainty and slightly golden in . A delicate arch inside my coarse working shoes made it look like something from an artist's easel. The other was a mottled purple, and was swelled to something the size of a large watermelon. No, of course I'm exaggerating. Who ever heard of swelling that size? But it was very large, and it barely fitted inside the matching working shoe. I found a thick twig and put it in my mouth. I bit down hard, readying myself for the intense pain I was about to feel. I carefully crossed my leg over the other so that my foot would be in easy reach. I gripped the heel of my shoe in my right hand, and the toe in the left. I took a deep breath then pulled with all of my might. The black cloud came swarming in very fast, threatening to consume me, but I knew that if I passed out now I wouldn't be able to try this again when I woke up. I bit down harder on the twig to keep from screaming and pulled harder.  
  
There was a loud POP!!! Followed closely by my foot coming free from the shoe. I had apparently popped my foot back into place. Just looking at the disfigured sight of my once-dainty golden foot I wanted to be sick. Apparently the black cloud had different ideas. It rushed in, and I barely had time to carefully move my foot to a safe position before it consumed me, and I feinted yet again.  
  
I woke the second time to a light sprinkling rain gently falling onto my face where it ran down my face into my hair. It had only just started but I was already more wet than was safe for me to me. I crawled to the broken crutch from the night before and pulled the now ruined tear blue dress from the split at its top. I admired once more the delicate embroidery before I ripped the dress in half. I ripped a long strip from it and began to gently, but firmly wrap my ankle in the beautiful cloth. When I was satisfied that it would not come undone, I got up, leaving the ruins of the dress on the road, and began once again to walk towards my home.  
  
  
  
I arrived at the house two hours later, soaking wet, shivering, and cold beyond belief. A chill wind had sprung up, and every gust cut me to the bone. My nose was running, and I felt so miserable all I wanted to do was get into some dry, warm clothes, and sleep. I was entertaining fantasies of a warm fire awaiting me when I pushed open the door...  
  
...And nearly cried at the sight that waited for me. My father was dressed in his Sunday best, his hair combed out and magnificent looking; even after all of his years he was still handsome. That made me smile. But next to him sat Kitaya, and Melina, also in their very best elegant gowns, wearing thick gloves to hide their ugly hands. They were wearing every piece of jewelry they owned, and would have sunk if they had tried to swim with all of that weighing them down. They were both slightly hunched from the weight. That made me want to laugh. But the sight of what was across from them made me want to run screaming. Turning towards me in our very best chair was none other than Julie herself, Brock at her side. Julie smiled at me, but I could sense her anger from the fact that Brock was clenching and unclenching his fists so fiercely I was afraid he might kill me on the spot.  
  
"My dear Sabina," She said in a sickly sweet, and oh-so-fake voice, "So good of you to join us." My sisters began laughing their 'new and improved' 'delicate' laughs. Julie sat a little more rigidly. Obviously she shared my opinion that they sounded like donkeys stuck in a mire, screaming for help. Which was a disturbing thought because I didn't want to think I shared anything with Julie.  
  
My father must have noticed. He leaned over and whispered something in their ears. The stopped laughing abruptly, the sound cut off as with a knife. The look they shot me was filled with venom, and the unspoken promise of violence later. Kitaya's hands clenched (not unlike Brock's) as if she couldn't wait to get them around my neck again.  
  
The door slammed shut behind me of it's own will. I jumped, which reminded me painfully of my ankle. I was so tired I think my mind shut down. I walked carefully down the two steps that led to where they sat. Julie looked about to say something more, but I brushed past her to where my father sat. I kissed his forehead muttered an apology for being so late, then walked into my room, limping only a little. Once there I changed from my wet clothes into a nightshirt and got into my bed. I was only seconds away from sleep when the door burst open.  
  
I sat up quickly, knocked fully away by the knowledge that I had shunned a noble. Standing in the doorway were four very angry looking figures. Of course I mean Kitaya, Melina, Julie, and Brock.  
  
"How DARE you!" shouted Julie, at the same time that Kitaya screamed,  
  
"Where were you!" and Melina said venomously,  
  
"You will pay for embarrassing us in such a manner."  
  
Brock only stood menacingly in the doorway, cracking his knuckles. I should have been scared, but I was too exhausted and in too much pain to care.  
  
"I dare because you deserve it. I was walking home on a broken ankle, the fault of which was caused by the big guy over there, and I probably WILL pay for this, but right now I'm going to sleep, and you are going to let me. Whether you like it or not" with that not-too-witty remark I laid back down, pulled the blankets up over my head and was asleep in an instant.  
  
I never even felt it. I slept peacefully, dreaming about a handsome young man trapped in the form of a bear. It was so pleasant to just dream, to not have to worry about anything, and I felt that I could help the man regain his form if only I let the answer come to me. Meanwhile I was being dragged along in a cart used to carry piled of manure. I didn't wake up at this point, nor did I wake up when we reached the city. I didn't even wake up when I was carried bodily into a room the size of a closet and deposited on a bed the size of a desk. I didn't wake up when my things were shoved in after me with many crashes, and I still didn't wake up when the front door slammed into place by a very angry countess. I did, however, wake when I was slapped so hard across the face that sometimes I feel that my ears are still wringing.  
  
I sat up with a jolt, and seemed to feel all of my injuries anew, and worse by a hundred times. I shook my head in an attempt to rid myself of an annoying wringing sound, and I put my hand to my face, already feeling a slight swelling in the shape of a small and very delicate hand. It hadn't felt NEARLY so delicate. I sneezed right in the young countess's face.  
  
"Bless you." Brock said automatically. Julie glared at him so hard I thought the force of it would cause his head to burst into flame.  
  
"I'll deal with you later," She said fiercely, and Brock ducked as if he could already feel the whip. "YOU!" she rounded on me, and I jumped again. "What time did I tell you to be here by?!" She demanded.  
  
"Twelve O'clock." I said meekly, feeling as if I too felt the whip already across my shoulders.  
  
"Twelve O'clock," She confirmed in a deceptively calm voice, "And when I came to your house, worried out of my mind and couldn't find you there either what did you say to me?"  
  
I sighed, not scared enough to play her little game. "You know perfectly well what I said. Can't we please just get to the point?"  
  
She looked scandalized, and I suppose that nobody had ever dared to talk to her that way before. I didn't care. I didn't have any energy left to be scared, or really, to feel anything but exhaustion. Whatever would come next I was sure wouldn't involve a bed, and I knew beyond a doubt that I wouldn't enjoy it. I just wished they would get on with it. I didn't feel slightly curious why they had my trunk from home, though I knew I should have been.  
  
"Brock," Julie asked exasperatedly, "What would you do if you were in my position?"  
  
Brock looked me over, assessing everything about me, and I just sat there tiredly, waiting for the blow to come. Well, come it did, but not then. Brock saw everything, and his judgment was this:  
  
"Do nothing." Julie raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at this, but Brock just smiled at her and said, "Do nothing for now. You see how she holds herself? How her eyes just seem to stare without seeing anything? She's numb, probably in shock, so my advice is to do nothing for now. Later, after she's well rested, and looks like she lives in this world, then punish her. She won't feel anything you do if you do it now." Julie looked shocked that such wisdom could come from her strong, dull-witted lackey. Brock looked surprised himself at what he had said and done, but he was pleased with himself as well.  
  
Julie nodded at him, and gave the order. She gave me a significant look, one I was too tired to understand, and then led Brock out and shut the door behind her. 'Oh bliss' I thought absently, 'I finally get to sleep.' I fell back towards the bed, and barely got into the blankets before my body gave out of me and I was pitched head first into a world of darkness where nothing lived but total exhaustive peace.  
  
  
  
I woke up the morning after that feeling woozy, cramped, and unkempt. I had been traveling for a while the day before, and the day before that with no chance of washing up, and no chance of a comb to brush my now- unruly hair. The bed had been much too short for a person of my height and I felt the need to stretch, but I had no space in my small living quarters.  
  
LIVING QUARTERS!!! I came fully awake with a bump then. When had I moved in?! Why had my father allowed such a thing? It was too much for my mind to take. I looked at the chest they had taken from my home with a new light. They had forced me out of my home so that I could be a slave in some rich woman's house. I had thought that I would still be able to remain at my home, even while I was being a servant to someone else. That possibility had been erased though. Now that I lived here I would be a slave, working into all hours of the morning, treated like a dog, and punished like one if I displeased too.  
  
By the time my frightened mind had thoroughly exhausted all possibilities I had become frantic. This was the exact moment that Julie thought to walk into my small room, Brock behind her as always. I looked down at my nightshirt and hurriedly scrambled under my blankets again. Brock looked slightly pink around the tips of his ears and his cheeks. I knew that I looked like a tomato I was blushing so hard. Julie just smiled like she hadn't a care in the world.  
  
"Today is the first day you begin your exciting new life," Julie told me enthusiastically, like we were schoolgirls talking over a cute guy in the . I just sat there, afraid to move. "I will take you to your new workspace as soon as you get dressed." She just stood there. I looked at the doorway pointedly, but she ignored me. I turned an even deeper shade of red. She meant me to change in front of her and Brock with the door wide open?! I sat there stubbornly, and I saw a slight tightening of her mouth as she clenched her jaw. Brock was blushing almost as furiously as I was, but he made no move to shift either. I cleared my throat and nudged my chin at the door, making it obvious that I wouldn't change while they stood there. Julie's lips curved in a malicious smile. She wasn't going anywhere.  
  
Well, I wasn't a complete idiot. If she wouldn't move then I would make sure she didn't see anything. I got off of the bed, dragging the blanket with me. I faced her and smiled back slowly before I pinned the blanket to the two walls, effectively creating a door that she couldn't see through. Or anyone else for that matter. I changed quickly into clothes I would have used to work in the garden at home. When I took the blanket down Julie's lips were a thin line and her eyes crinkled in a glare. I made a show of calmly remaking my bed, though all I really wanted to do was run for the hills. When I was done she turned on her heel and walked out, clearly expecting me to follow. I didn't want to push her too much so I followed her to my workspace.  
  
I expected it to be about as small as my room, without the proper equipment so that I'd have to struggle through whatever I made. It seemed though, that my punishment was not to interfere with Julie's clothing. The room she led me to was up several flights of stairs, and down a long corridor. The door looked like it was embroidered wood. It had several vines climbing up the frame, and the door itself was a big carven picture of Julie herself with all of her better parts emphasized while her lesser parts had been erased completely. It made me want to laugh, but I knew that would be a mistake. Then she opened the door and all I could do was stare with wonder at the glorious sights that filled my eyes.  
  
It was a HUGE room, and there were doors all along the walls, and on those doors were carved words like: SILK, and WOOL, and VELVET, and many, many others. I walked over to the one labeled SILK and opened the door. Inside was the most luxuriously soft silk, in all the s of the rainbow. They were all stacked on shelves, and there was enough fabric there to make at least fifty dresses. I didn't have to look in the other doors to know they would all be the same.  
  
I closed the door (That GLORIOUS door) and walked to the tables. On one was set a large basket full of needles of all shapes and sizes, and several threaders. Some of the needles were made of gold, and some of silver, and some had curious jagged edges that I'd only heard of once. Those were for making patterned stitches that purposely frayed the fabric at the edges in the of the people from the north. I nearly dropped that needle with fright when I saw it. Instead I put it gently back down, determined not to look at it ever again.  
  
In a corner across the room was a magnificent loom that looked to be carved of the same kind of wood as on all the doors. I touched it lovingly, noticing the perfectness of the edges, the telltale sign of disuse. It was brand new! My fingers itched to touch it, but Julie effectively burst that bubble.  
  
"That's not for you." She told me, "We already have plenty of fabric. We don't need any of your tapestries here. Your job is to make dresses. Nothing else. Do you understand?"  
  
I nodded miserably. I loved to make dresses, don't get me wrong, it was just that my favorite thing to do was make rugs and tapestries. There was so much more imagination involved. I sighed. 'Never mind. I like making dresses anyway.' I thought to myself.  
  
Julie nodded self-importantly. There seemed to be a slight smile playing about her mouth but I couldn't be sure.  
  
"You'll start immediately of course. Later our other seamstress might decide to join you here. Just ignore her. Her works aren't even slightly as beautiful as your embroideries are. That's not a compliment, just a stated fact. Any questions?"  
  
My stomach chose that moment to growl my answer. "Yes. Um...when's breakfast?"  
  
Julie laughed delicately. "You don't honestly think that after last night I would feed you did you?" I looked downcast and she laughed louder, "Oh my, you did! Well, perhaps this will teach you some respect for your betters. Do I hear a 'yes countess Julie?'"  
  
I didn't say anything and Brock made a move toward me. "Yes countess Julie." I said hurriedly, and she laughed louder yet. She turned around to Brock and made to leave. At the last moment she turned back to me and said, "The Nomolaides are having a grand ball in one month. I expect a dress to wear to that. The s of my house are green and yellow. The insignia is carved on that table over there. Be sure you put them both into your design."  
  
She turned around gracefully and left, walking like a queen in a castle. I made a face at her back when I was sure she wasn't watching. Juvenile? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. Make me feel better? YES! And it was fun. I couldn't stay irritated for long though, not with the pull of all of those fabrics, and wonderful needles calling. I strode over to the 'silk' door and chose a light, leaf green, and a very, very light yellow, with silk thread to match. Then I went to the 'velvet' door and chose a deep, dark, luxurious, forest green. The next minute was spent on choosing exactly the right needle. I chose one made of silver. It was extremely thin, and the tip was probably sharper than was necessary, but it flowed through the cloth like water and soon became my favorite.  
  
I hurried to one of the tables and got a pair of sharp scissors, and a chair, and the rest of that day was lost in the wonder of cloth, and needle and perfect design.  
  
All of the things I made reflected my mood of the time, and right then I was frustrated and angry, so the dress had pointed ends, and the bodice was cut in the shape of a spade, making it pointed at the end, toward the breasts. I used the light green silk for the bodice, and the dark forest green velvet for the voluminous skirt. The yellow I was saving for a trim on the bodice. I knew I wouldn't finish the sewing that day, but for then it was enough that I had scissors and fabric, and a perfect little needle.  
  
Once during that day I had to get up and look at the house insignia carved on the table if I wanted to make it part of the design. I stared at it for at least five minutes before I finally had an idea. It was a huge tree, with a trunk the size of three Identical Brock's. The leaves at the top were just turning yellow and gold from the changing of the seasons. I had an idea, and it was going to get me a big fat paycheck I was sure of it. There was no way she could not like the dress I was designing for her. I turned back to the fabric and got to work.  
  
  
  
I worked like that for weeks. It took me five days to get the fabric sewn together perfectly. I spent five more carefully embroidering the house sigil on the bottom of the skirt, and it took me the rest of the month to finish the tiny embroidery. It was the most beautiful dress that I had yet created. Pride shone from my eyes as I held it.  
  
Julie had began feeding me after three days of zero food, and I had begun looking like a scarecrow, and my hands shook so bad that I couldn't thread the tiny needle even with the best threader. She had done it only to save the dress. She didn't want me to mess up on it.  
  
Their other seamstress Carla came often to the work place, and though she was considerably older, she and I became fast friends. She would often help me with the measurements. It was decided that I was almost exactly the same size as Julie, maybe a little taller, and somewhat skinnier, so I often became the dummy as she put pins in the right places. She always caught her breath whenever I had done something new to the shimmering cloth, and she had never been lacking in new compliments to describe it.  
  
After my first week living in the Shanoi household Julie had set down the absolute laws for my stay in her household. There were so many rules, the first of which was to always keep my eyes on the floor when nobility approached. I laughed at that rule right in her face, and I didn't get food again till the next afternoon. The second rule was to never 'raise myself above her.' When I asked what that meant she said I should know. When I asked Carla what that meant she snorted and told me that it meant I was to never look prettier than the 'darling child' (another snort of laughter) while I still lived. I looked confused at that, but shrugged and accepted it. The third rule was to always follow orders no matter who gave them or what they were. There were many more, but I would probably die of exhaustion before I could pen them all out, and really I don't think you'd want to read them.  
  
Since she had given me rules, I thought it only fair to give her some of my own. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when I said that, but she told me to go on and I did. Rule one was that I would be allowed to see my family at least once a week, even if it was only for an hour or two. Rule two was that if I was making the dresses, I got to dress her in them, and do her hair and makeup as well. I hated leaving a job unfinished, and when I had a pattern in mind I followed it through, and all of my dress patterns came with patterns for hair and makeup as well. She agreed to this after I told her that I would absolutely not sabotage her under any circumstances. Rule three was that I would be allowed to work the magnificent loom for one day a month at least. She eventually agreed to all three after I told her that I wouldn't put another stitch in the cloth until she did. And then she had me whipped for not obeying Rule forty-five, or some such nonsense. I didn't care, as long as I had fabric to work with, and the fulfillment of my rules I was, if not happy, at least content.  
  
And so I held up my pride and joy, thoroughly savoring all of the sharp lines, and contrasting s that made this beautiful, perfect dress...if I did say so myself. On the forest green velvet I had sewn miniature autumn tree's, the sigil of house Shanoi. The trees wrapped around the skirt, making a beautiful border. On the bodice many tiny yellow leaves had been sewn, and they cascaded gently in thick waves. A few leaves went down the skirt too, but they were only seldom, making the top and bottom mesh, and look like they belonged together while still making them seem individual and breathtaking. They would go well with Julie's blonde hair, and the dress would bring out her deep green eyes as well. It was a perfect fit, and I couldn't wait till I got to dress her like a little doll. Maybe I could even pretend she WAS a doll for a while. Doubtful, but maybe...  
  
I carefully wrapped my precious creation in wrapping paper like a gift for a birthday. I would relish her face when she opened it. I had made sure she didn't see it while I had been sewing, and it would come as a total surprise to her. I grinned to myself and softly sang a frivolous song about sunflowers. Nobody knew quite what the song meant, but it was one you would sing to a small child in the summer. I'd always loved it, though I couldn't remember where I'd first heard it.  
  
I walked along the corridor to her room, a little nervous now that the moment had come. I came upon her door and knocked softly. I waited a long while, but finally she opened it. When she saw whom it was she glared. I still couldn't bring myself to look at the floor when facing her. I didn't see the need, and it was harder to see where you were going.  
  
When she saw the bundle in my arms though, she gave an exclamation of joy and ripped it out of my hands. She tore open the package quickly, and when the dress was free she stood staring at it with awe. She reverently lifted it to the light of the candles in her room. She touched the sharp lines of the material, and smiled, a real, honest smile. And she was beautiful. Until she began to talk.  
  
"Oh the duchesse Nomolaide will be sooo jealous! We'll see who gets the prince's attention now!" She looked over her shoulder at me and grinned. "True to form," she stated diplomatically, "I'll pay you for every dress I like. I like this one so here's your payment." She flicked a copper coin at me. COPPER! That was good for MAYBE a drink of water at an inn, and nothing more. I was outraged, and she saw the look on my face and laughed. "I deducted costs for supplying the material, and because you are a servant I deducted costs for your employers...me. Also I'm deducting for that tear right there." She pointed at something I couldn't see.  
  
"What tear!" I said indignantly, trying to keep my temper under control and failing miserably.  
  
"That one." She said calmly, and even more calmly ripped open one of the seams. "Now go fix it. I need a whole dress for the ball. Especially if the prince will be there." And with that she sent me on my way.  
  
I had to work quickly if I was to be done in time for the ball, and especially if I wanted to do her hair as I had imagined. I was mad, oh yes, but I'd never left anything half finished before and I didn't intend to start now. Even if Julie looked less and less like a doll the more time I spent with her.  
  
The seam was soon fixed flawlessly, and I returned to her rooms. She stood on a pedestal as I snapped and clasped all of the buttons of the back and sides. The dress had skinny arms that went all the way to her wrists where they pointed and went around both of her middle fingers. I did that because dances get hot a lot of times, and I wanted to make her as uncomfortable as I dared. It was the only sort of revenge I allowed myself. The dress looked exquisite on her, and another flash of pride went through me. I fixed the skirts so that they fell the right way.  
  
When I was done with that I led her to a chair where I immediately started on her makeup. I brushed a light green shimmering powder over her eyelids, and I painted the tips of her eyelashes black. This was unheard of, but I had though about doing it since I was little and kept getting frustrated at my eyelashes for not being darker. It worked out flawlessly, even if she did look at me weirdly for doing it. I brushed the faintest of pink on her cheeks; just enough where it looked like she was perpetually flushed a little bit, like I realized she did occasionally, but when it happened it was very becoming on her. I painted her lips a dark glossy brown, the natural red of her lips showing through enough to make it look natural. All of the s matched, and I beamed at my handiwork. All I had left was the hair.  
  
I combed it out thoroughly first, making sure that all tangled were completely out before I started. I began to braid her hair high up on her head. This was no ordinary braid however. I had been working on this design for a very, very long time, and I had practiced it many times on the hair of my wooden dolls, and sometimes on Melina when she was in an especially friendly mood. Kitaya was just too (heaven forgive me for saying this) stupid to really feel anything for anyone. She always did exactly what Melina did. Everything except being nice to me occasionally. She had suffered the most from mother's loss. But this design was flawless. I won't tell you my secret, I wish to keep it, just know that if you saw me braiding her long hair down her back you would have indeed thought I was sabotaging her. It was fat in some places skinny in others, and it looked like a five-year-old had done it. Every few inches a long strand of hair escaped from the braid. When I tied it off at the end I beamed. I had done it flawlessly. Now all I had to do was wrap it. I twisted it around and around her head until I could tuck the end under it all securely. There was the most beautiful design on the back of her head now, and strands of long hair still fell down her back. It was obvious with the pattern that this was purposeful. I began to curl those pieces, and when it was done my smile got wider. The last thing I had to do was connect the yellow leaves I had made.  
  
I had taken some of the yellow silk and cut out about twenty little leaves. I had then soaked them in flour and water. When I took them out I shaped them carefully so that they would curve gracefully, and still look like leaves. I had left them thus for a while, and finally they had hardened. After that I carefully brushed off the flour. The last step was to dust a shimmering yellow, glitter powder over the shaped leaves. Each one had a small hole in the small stems. I brought a needle threader with me to Julie's rooms. Now I used that threader to pull the silken strands of her golden hair through the small holes in the stems. When I was done each curled golden piece of hair had a glittering silken leaf hanging from its end. I caught my breath and looked at the exquisiteness of her. She couldn't have been more beautiful if she were an angel, and when I made her stand and twirl for me to see the finished product I clapped with delight. She still looked wary though, so I turned her full-length mirror into her sight and watched with pleasure as the emotions spread across her face like ripples in a pond. First disbelief, then astonishment, then boundless joy. She even forgot herself enough to giggle like a small child.  
  
"Oh the duchesse will be SO angry! How delicious. The prince will not be able to ignore me this time. Oh how lovely. Of course the next time you will fix that hideous...something." She said, I could tell just so that I wouldn't feel so accomplished. It didn't work. Unbeknownst to me I began to sing that old song, and felt so good I could have jumped off a tower and flew. I was recalled from my high perch, and flying fantasies with a rude awakening. I had been slapped again, this time not as hard; apparently she didn't want to break a nail. In that moment I realized that we could never be friends. Not that I'd really wanted to, but it would have been nice. I sighed, and left quickly when she began screaming for me to get out.  
  
She went to the ball that night, and she came back squealing that she had been the main focus of almost every conversation and had danced with the prince at least five times. Me she ignored, and she took off the dress without any help, but I had some satisfaction hearing all of the thuds, and bumps from her trying to take it off alone. She hung it in her wardrobe, and told me to get to work on the next one. And to make it blue.  
  
"It's the prince's favorite ." She explained hurriedly. Then she pushed me on my way to the sewing room to start on it. It didn't seem to matter that it was still night and dawn had not yet come. I sighed but began picking out s for the next dress.  
  
  
  
And so the months passed. I made the blue dress, and it turned out better than the green one had, and the red one after that turned out better than the blue. Sometimes Julie liked them and gave me a few copper coins, and sometimes she pretended to despise them after wearing them out already, and paid me nothing whatsoever. I was forced to sell the few things I was able to make out of the loom, and I began to lose sleep over that. Whatever I made I sent home to my family, and in the meanwhile I began to grow frighteningly thin from all the times I was forced to skip meals because of it. I began skipping sleep altogether so that I could sew a new dress and perhaps get a few coppers to send home to my failing family. I still saw them once a week, just like Julie promised, but I always arrived at the worst times.  
  
My father was always at his desk poring over papers that he refused to let me see. I worried about him, but he told me to worry about myself. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my hair became duller as well. I did worry about myself, but if I didn't keep working my father would lose the house. Kitaya and Melina still sucked up the money faster than we could make it, but my father was able to keep more of it away from them.  
  
Meanwhile, I began to have more and more dreams about the strange bear that was actually a man. These always calmed me down, though I realized that I should be afraid. I wasn't. And so the years passed. Julie became more hostile towards me as I kept getting better at what I did. She was so jealous, but she daren't get rid of me because then someone else would snatch me up and she wouldn't be the toast of the town any longer.  
  
Three years passed, and despite all of my efforts to help my family, we would have to sell the house. I took my future firmly in hand and moved back in. I still had to go over to Julie's everyday, but I wanted to be with my family in our home for what would surely be the last time. My father still pored over the bills (which is what the white papers were) trying to find a way to pay them, but we couldn't. I at least began to grow a little healthier since I began eating at my home, but all of our appetites were diminished (except Kitaya, whose appetite only seemed to grow with time, and she was soon very thick in the middle (A/N which is her nice way of saying Kitaya was FAT)) I was like a machine working for so long, and I went through my days in a daze. When someone told me a strange bear had bought a room at an inn in the city I didn't even care. Soon after that my father said that he'd have to go to the city for a while to see the landlord and talk matters over with him. Julie gave me a few days off during that time so that I could watch the house while he was gone. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except keeping the house. Everything was as empty of life to me as I myself was. Nothing. Blank. Bare.  
  
Alone.  
  
  
  
Well! Hope you all like that super, absolutely, and totally LONG chapter. I hope this communicates how absolutely sorry I am for waiting so long to write this. Although keep in mind that I finished this at 1:30 in the morning, so it might me a bit wonky in places. Now PLEASE! Review. I want to hear feedback. And please tell me what I need to work on. I know I'm not perfect. There must be something! So any feedback is welcome. Oh, and you'll notice the genre changing when the next chapter comes. I don't put the genre that applies until it actually does. Which one will it be? Any guesses? Anyway, it's so late and I'm tired so goodnight all, and have a nice day. 


	7. The True Beginning

Hello all! And yes, yes I know I've been absent for a while from writing. A lot of exciting things have happened over the past month, but I'll get to that at the end of the story. Enjoy this final chapter for now though. I hope you like it!

Johnny

I looked at my quarters in the inn yet again. It was pitifully small for all I was paying for it. And it was shabby. The innkeeper had nearly feinted at the sight of me, and he had been loathe to let me into his inn. When he saw the gold I could pay he still looked wary, but as I have said before, and probably will say again, greed can overcome all. He took my money after making me promise to stay in my rooms so that none of his guests would be scared away. I was simply exhausted from my travels so I agreed. The amount he charged was ridiculous, and he had me in a room connected to the stables by a wall that seemed thinner than paper. The room looked like a groom's closet for horse articles. There were oil spots on the floor that looked like they could have been made from spilled saddle oil. It smelled like hay and other things less pleasant. I will spare you those details. The most that could be said for it was that the roof didn't leak, as I found out when the rain started that night.

The rain made little rivulets down the one window in the side of my room. It overlooked the street, but nobody traveled so close to the stables, especially in wet weather. Have you ever smelled a wet dog? Well, wet horse, and hay is at least ten times worse in my opinion. I didn't blame the people for staying away. The sounds were calming though. I'd always preferred rainy or snowy weather to any other. Cold didn't bother me because of my thick bearskin cloak, and the soft noises of rain or snow falling had a calming influence. I sat down at the one small chair in my room and looked out at the steadily dampening street. Little puddles had formed, where the road wasn't quite even, and the rain made little ripples across the surfaces. I took a deep breath (through my mouth) and tried to relax a little.

I had been in the town for about three days, and I had heard some startling news. The second-eldest prince of our country was staying in this town for a while. It was made publicly known that he was there to study abroad, and get used to his people. It was privately whispered that he was there to choose a bride among all the nobles at court. I knew this because of the very thin walls connecting my 'bedroom' to the stables (where the servants talked) and to the less expensive rooms available (where commoners in from the country liked to talk.)

The reason that this news was startling was because I had heard stories about royalty from my mother. Most of them were fogged over from the small memory of my childhood, but most I remembered. She had told me once that royalty was very, very rich. She said that they had complete power over all of their subjects, but that their jobs were to rule fairly and wisely all the days of their lives. I remembered this because I was so tired of running. I had been running for three straight years, and I didn't think I could do it for three and a half more. If there was royalty in that town then surely they would already think themselves rich enough, and would not care if I had all the money in the world at my disposal...which I did. The puzzling thought was, how did I know that the people wouldn't try to kill me also.

It was a dilemma, but I didn't have to be moving on just then, and nobody but the innkeeper knew that I had gold. I still had at least a week to puzzle out the situation, and in the meantime I had to figure out a way to help someone from within the confines of my room. I had promised not to go out very much, and I never broke a promise made in good faith. I could wait for that too, but then, what would I do all day long?

Boredom. And the rain. My two eternal companions. What could I do?

Inspected my room. I found a few holes in the walls. I didn't notice them before, taking them for specks of dust, but I realized what they were when a candle was lit in the room next to mine and the holes lit up. I looked into the room and saw an older man. He looked to be about fourty or fourty-five years old, give or take a few years. The way he carried himself, though, spoke volumes about how old he FELT. His back was somewhat slouched, as though he was carrying a great weight on his shoulders, and it was becoming too much to bear. He had lines on his face that spoke of worry, and fatigue. And his eyes looked ancient. They stared around the room as if not really seeing it at all. Maybe he didn't.

My heart went out to him, and I was going to say something to him before I realized the ridiculousness of my situation. I was staring at a man through a hole in the wall! I backed away from the hole so fast I nearly tripped over the hem of my coat. what was I doing? I resolved not to go near the hole again, but to try to find a way to help this man if I could.

I left the situation at that and went back to the window. I suppose I nodded off to sleep because when I came to voices were coming from the next room. One very loud angry voice, and another voice that broke with unshed tears, and pleaded, and begged for something I couldn't make out. My resolve broke and I walked over to the hole in the wall and peeked through.

The white haired man was on his knees, hands held up as if to protect his face from unseen blows. His face was a study in anguish, and I turned my head slightly to see whom he was pleading with.

On the other side of the room was a more regal looking figure. His high black boots with leather braiding on the sides marked him for a noble, but no more so than his soft blue velvet coat and matching breeches. His white silk undershirt bore the crest of house Nomolaide, a dagger that shone like finely cut diamond, and a drop of ruby red blood leading down from the tip. Rumor had it that the Nomolaides were bitter because the prince had been persistently courting the young duchesse Nomolaide, until some young seamstress had begun making the young countess Shanoi look irresistible. Well, whatever the reason for it, I saw no sense in taking it out on a poor man like the one kneeling before him.

"I have been kind to your pitiful little family for long enough Mr. Miller! You cannot keep putting off the rent. If I don't get the money by tomorrow night I will have you thrown in jail, and your poor daughters evicted!"

"No! please Duke Nomolaide, please. My daughters have nowhere else to go. I promise I'll pay the rent. You have my word. I need more time though. Please!" desperation crept into Mr. Millers' voice. I took pity on the poor man. He looked like he loved his daughters very much.

"Well, at least 'beautiful' Sabina will have somewhere to go. Making that tramp from Shanoi house more pleasing to look at than my dear sister! Maybe Sabina can appeal to her MASTER on behalf of her sisters, but you, Mr. Miller, you will go to jail, and hopefully to the gallows afterwards for what your family has done to my sister."

"Sabina?" Mr. Miller looked like he was in a daze after hearing that name. "Sabina would never harm anyone, not intentionally. And I'm sure that she would help your sister as well. She's very talented, my Sabina."

The Duke Nomolaide looked like he would spit fire. "My sister needs help from NO ONE to be beautiful! She manages all on her own. It's your daughter that's the problem!" He shook his head for a second before readdressing Mr. Miller. "That's not the issue at hand here though. Regardless of whether or not your daughter is a witch, you still have rent that's due. By tomorrow!" with that he swished his cloak behind him and stalked out of the door, slamming it behind him with a loud CRASH!

Mr. Miller sat down on his small bed and rocked slowly back and forth. Grief battled strength on his face. Grief won. His face seemed to crumble, and he put his head in his hands and sobbed. It was heartbreaking to watch, and I retreated quickly, sure that a man like that would not appreciate being seen in such a condition.

Some of the conversation came back to my mind, and I concluded that Mr. Miller's daughter must be the seamstress that was making Shanoi house so desirable to the prince. My heart went out to the man, but surely if his daughter was responsible for the beauty of the countess, then she would have sent money home to her father and solved his problems. It was baffling.

I had to do something. I couldn't say that I helped everyone who needed it and then ignore this man. I had promised to stay in my room though, unless absolutely necessary. I wasn't sure the innkeeper would see this as absolutely necessary, but I did. When I was sure Mr. Miller wouldn't be embarrassed for me to see him I walked out of my room and to his door, preparing to knock...

What!!! What's this? How can I be done so soon you're wondering. Well, the answer is very simple really. This last month I was contacted by a publisher who requested to publish this story. She also asked that I not write any more of it on the site so that people wouldn't be tempted to read this version instead of the one that will be coming out (hopefully) soon in hardback. I asked to have one more chapter for the fans to explain and she said that it would be okay, so here you have it. But why oh why you ask, am I leaving it on such a cliffhanger? Maybe the suspense of it will persuade you to buy the book when it comes out. Lol. In any case, I am truly sorry for leaving you hanging this way, but I am going to finish the story. And if the publishing thing doesn't work out, well then I'll simply post the story on fanfiction again. And if that happens at least you'll know that the updates will be sooner. Lol. But before I go, some parting notes to some of my favorites:

Yoshikisqual thank you so much for your reviews. I'm sorry most of all to you for doing this. You've been there from the start for me. It was mostly you who inspired me to keep going with your...ahem...persistent reviews. Lol. But I want to thank you for them. You've helped so much.

Dragonfirechik, I'm so glad that you enjoyed my dedication to you. You were the only person to review chapter five, I'll never be able to tell you how grateful I am for even that small boost of confidence. And I have indeed read Watchers by Dean Koonts. In fact it's one of my favorite books. I did get the idea from there, but I changed the design a little bit. Should I have put a disclaimer last chapter? Ah well, I've put one now. Lol.

Annemarie delacour, I have the same pet peeve about authors finishing stories, although I am sad to say that the first one I started on this site is not finished, and I don't think it will be. However, this one I have plotted out to the end, and I'll die before I let this one go to waste. So no worries there! And the shortage of reviews doesn't bother me very much. Most people who have reviewed so far have been positive, and they keep me going.

And to catakit, you are right. I'm walking the line of being too sappy with Sabina. I tend to favor her character more, so naturally giving her flaws is somewhat unheard of. I understand how horrible this is, so I will try to give her more personality. And Brock? Well...evil grin just wait and see.

Once again I'm sorry for leaving you all in a clutch, but this is my dream after all. I'd like to see it come true. Feel free to review this chapter with your questions, comments, angry commentaries, etc., etc. if you include your e-mail addresses I will e-mail you your answers. Thank you all for your help, but now I should go and write more. I hope to have the story finished by mid September, and that won't happen if I keep blabbing. So...


	8. Don't get too excited

Okay, before you get your hopes up, this is NOT an update. Or at least, not a big one. I just felt that I should let you all in on how everything is progressing, and give a few moreparagraphs to reward your patience. Lol.

Well, all is not well in publishing land. In fact, the publisher who contacted me is no longer able to do so. Don't ask me why, it's up to her if she wishes to do so. It's not my place to gossip. But anyhow, after that unfortunate incident, I resolved to get it published anyway. I have not finished the book (I wish!) yet. It's taking longer than expected. But I will say, that if I don't finish this by next month, then I'll post another few paragraphs like I'm doing today. Hopefully that will put a fire under my butt so to speak. Lol. Anyway, I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Now that I have to appeal to different publishers though, I need help perfecting this story. So please! Be brutal. Be nit-picky. Don't spare my feelings. Tell me everything you can see that is wrong with this story so that I can feel right about it when I send it out to complete strangers (after having it copywrighted first of course). PLEASE! Now, on to the update!

… I had to do something. I couldn't say that I helped everyone who needed it and then ignore this man. I had promised to stay in my room though, unless absolutely necessary. I wasn't sure the innkeeper would see this as absolutely necessary, but I did. When I was sure Mr. Miller wouldn't be embarrassed for me to see him I walked out of my room and to his door, preparing to knock…

I lifted my hand nervously. Over the past few years my hair had grown considerably longer, and my beard seemed to be trying to win a marathon with my hair. It was nearly down to my waist. My hands were so dirty they were nearly black, and my face couldn't even be found through all the tangles of hair, and the patches of dirt. I could have planted seeds in all the dirt. I truly looked like a bear. I hoped I didn't scare the man too badly.

I knocked on his door firmly, trying to gain back my confidence. I waited in the rain, wanting badly to run out and get thoroughly soaked, and knowing how badly I would stink if I did.

The door opened after a minute, and I could see the open shock on the man's face. He backed up a few steps, and threw his hands to his face as if trying to protect it. He stared at me, and fear was evident in his eyes.

"Don't be frightened, I'm here to help." These words were almost monotonous I had said them so many times before. I had had to with how I looked, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to help anybody at all. The usual reactions played over his face. Fear at how I looked, then awe because I could speak, then amazement after realizing I was human, and back to fear from what I might want from him.

"Wh-what can I do for you?" He asked me tentatively.

"Nothing. I want to help YOU."

He looked suspicious for a moment before saying, "That's mighty gracious of you stranger, but it looks like you can barely help yourself. If you're looking for a room I can share mine, though you'll have to sleep on the floor. Whatever food I have can be shared as well. It's not much, but it looks like you need it far worse than I."

It was my turn to be shocked. Nobody had ever offered as much as this man after barely meeting me. Nobody at all. I was truly touched. I smiled, though he couldn't tell because of everything obscuring my features, and said, "Oh I can help myself better than you'd think. That's not the issue though. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with that Duke Nomolaide. After meeting you I have no wish to have you sent to the gallows, so here-" I began pouring handfuls of gold out of my pockets, "It should help."

He looked shocked at the glittering mass covering his feet and mine. After finding himself so relieved of all of his problems from the past several years in only a few moments, he finally smiled, and tears of gratitude and relief shone in his eyes.

" I could never repay you stranger," he said softly, "I doubt that I would ever have this kind of money, and I don't have any talents which you can make of use to you. So why? Why would you give me so much, knowing how little I have?" the man, Mr. Miller I remembered, looked up at me, waiting for an answer.

"I don't ask for anything in exchange," I answered him truthfully, "Only that you pray for my health and strength for the next three and a half years. That's all I need. My life."

Mr. Miller looked shocked for a moment. " of course I will do what you ask, but my conscience would never permit me to take such an extravagant gift without some better kind of payment." His voice trailed off for a moment and he turned and sat on the bed, slightly rocking, obviously thinking hard. I stood in the doorway slightly uncomfortable, wondering if he wanted me to leave. Just when I was about to silently make my way out the door, he looked up at me with a slight smile on his lips.

"I know what to do now." He said…

Oh I know, I am the cliffie queen! Don't be too mad. Just remember to review! Even if you don't want to, even if you're reading this story and you never review so you're thinking of just skipping out on it. Really people I need your help! Thank you,

Karli


	9. when life hands you lemons

Hello again all you lovely readers out there! It is I, the author who will drive you slowly insane from all of the waiting I make you do! Oi! Sorry, I just get REALLY hyper at night. I don't know why…

Anyway! It's that time again. I have yet to finish my book, and so here are the promised paragraphs. Reviewer notes will be at the bottom. And now enjoy!

Mr. Miller looked shocked for a moment. " of course I will do what you ask, but my conscience would never permit me to take such an extravagant gift without some better kind of payment." His voice trailed off for a moment and he turned and sat on the bed, slightly rocking, obviously thinking hard. I stood in the doorway slightly uncomfortable, wondering if he wanted me to leave. Just when I was about to silently make my way out the door, he looked up at me with a slight smile on his lips.

"I know what to do now." He said, the smile broadening…

. "If you're staying here I can certainly sympathize with you. This place has always been horrible. Why don't you come home with me? You can meet the rest of my family. Once they've found out how you've helped us they'll surely welcome you with open arms. And at the end of your stay, perhaps you might even consider taking one of my daughters to wife. After all, kindness beats looks any day. And maybe we could get you cleaned up…"

"No!" I said, maybe a little too vehemently, for the look on his face said he was frightened again. "No thank you, I mean." I said quieter. "to getting cleaned up anyway, there are rules against that, but the rest of it sounded wonderful." I was thinking of the house, not really his daughters. I wouldn't subject them to someone like me as a husband. But a place where I could get out of the small stinking room sounded like heaven, and people to talk to would also be nice.

He looked a little unsure still from my outburst, but his eyes flickered to the gold on the floor and he seemed to fill himself with gratitude as he said, "splendid. We ride home in the morning after I pay that filthy little Duke. I can't wait to see the look on his face. Or better yet…" and then he was silently contemplating. This time I really did exit quietly out the door, shutting it behind me.

The next morning I woke up early from a restless sleep, caused by my excitement, and impatience to get away from the smelly old inn. I tried to go back to sleep but the effort was futile. Sleep eluded me and finally I got up and started pacing my room while waiting for dawn to lighten the sky. when it was finally light enough to see clearly I was contemplating writing a letter to Phillip when I heard Mr. Miller's door slam. I looked (ashamedly, but still curiously) through one of the holes in the wall.

The Duke Nomolaide was trembling on the threshold, looking murderous. His voice, when he spoke, was so cold, and angry that the hairs on the back of my neck rose up.

"Do you know what I was doing last night Mr. Miller? Do you!" Mr. Miller gently shook his head, his eyes wide and staring. "I was at a party thrown by my own family in honor of the prince's twenty-first birthday. And do you know what happened? He ignored my sister the entire time to talk with the countess from Shanoi house! At our own party! And do you happen to know why? Because your daughter had made her another dress. Again and again he shuns my sister in honor of the fashionable Shanoi woman, and all because of your daughter. Well, today will end it all. Give me the money now Mr. Miller, otherwise you hang, and maybe pretty Sabina as well!" His voice rose triumphantly and he held his hand toward the old man maliciously.

Mr. Miller very calmly stood up and placed several gold coins into Duke Nomolaide's hand and closed the fingers around them. "Your rent." He said simply, before turning around and sitting back on his bed to pack the rest of his things.

The Duke opened his hand and counted the gold, looking completely shocked. He looked up quickly at Mr. Miller, shock being slowly replaced by fury. "Very well," he spat out irritably, "but the rent had better not be late next month." Then he turned around and quickly walked back towards the door, but a voice stopped him in his tracks before he could leave.

"There won't be a next months rent," Mr. Miller stated calmly, still folding clothes. "I'm buying a house in the city. It's sort of a spur of the moment thing, but I think it will be better for all, don't you?"

Duke Nomolaide looked like he could spit fire. "Very well," he said again, "But don't expect that, just because you're moving close to me that you'll be as good as I am. You're still only a farmer, and your daughters are still only simpletons." Then he turned on his heel and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled slightly and a hinge popped a screw loose.

Mr. Miller let out a deep breath and then turned back to his work.

Catakit: Thank you so much for the revised chapter. I used all of your suggestions. Where's the rest! Lol. sorry. No hurry. All in your own time…

DH L'Orange: thank you for the review. Although, your last sentence made my jaw drop. You didn't think I'd have it done in time! For shame…you know me too well…lol.

Potterwoman: I wrote to you, but where's your excuse for not writing back? Tsk, tsk! I expected better from you. waggles finger unnecessarily lol. I'm glad you like my story. Now update yours!

TrudiRose: thank you VERY much for your reviews. I wasn't offended at all! I handle constructive criticism very well, and I did ask after all. I could see my mistakes on most everything that you pointed out. There were only one or two things that I cannot, for the sake of the story, change, but other than that I will happily take your advice. What age do you think would be proper? He has to be young when his mother dies. That just can't be changed, but any age below ten is acceptable. Any suggestions? And you're right. Sabina has too many enemies. I cannot tone down her sisters though. They are necessary for the end of the story, and much of the important plot, and the Duke Nomolaide is necessary also. The Countess Shanoi also, but Brock could be toned down. I'm afraid that's all I can do, but perhaps I can change the character of some of her other enemies, to…well…I don't know. I'm stuck there. Ideas at all?

That's all for now. I'm sorry this didn't come sooner but my computer kind of crashed for two weeks, and we only just got it back. Anyway, REVIEW!


	10. New Beginning 1

A/N Hey all! It's been several years since I've posted anything on this story. Frankly, I got really busy and stopped working on it altogether. I always had the best intentions to come back to it and edit all of the (MANY) mistakes within, but I let myself get distracted until it wasn't really a priority any more. Sorry about that.

Now I'm back though, and I want to revamp the whole thing! Same characters, same plot, but-hopefully-much better quality. I'll need your help to do it. Here's what I'm going to do: I'm posting two chapters right now. They are BOTH written with the intent to start off the book. Your job is to tell me which one you like better. Which one grabs your attention and holds it? Keep in mind that they are both _very_ rough drafts that will be edited to within an inch of their lives later, but for now I just need a jumping-off point.

Thank you for all of your help and encouragement. Without the somewhat random-but heartwarming-reviews I've gotten over the years I would have kept procrastinating until the threads of this tale got lost and I couldn't find them any more. You guys seriously rock! :-)

Prelude

Johnny

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Real life is somewhat different. For a human being, the journey never ends; even death cannot stop a story, as I found out during the adult years of my own life. I have spent the last few years trying to erase those tales of mine that would cast me in an unfavorable light, but I am finally forced to concede that my story is important so that others do not repeat my mistakes. You may judge me by what you're about to read. That's okay. Some of you may choose to think of this as just another interesting fairytale, some of you may regard it as the fanciful lies of a man who has risen too far too fast and wishes to garner more attention; and still, some of you will read these pages and recognize the truth. Regardless of your belief I will know that if you have read my story (or what little of it can be committed to paper), you may someday be prepared if the Green Man comes calling.

_My_ story begins in a small town located in the Kingdom of Yuskolisus. I was the only son of a renowned musician-turned-common-laborer. There was a story there, but my Father refused to tell it, and my Mother never talked about her life before I was born, as if I was the one who caused her existence and not the other way around. I am told that my parents were once desperately in love, sharing such glances from across the room as would melt the hearts of any young couple and put them to shame. I don't remember that part. My earliest memories are of my Mother lowering her eyes to the ground whenever my Father looked at her, or of my Father's mouth going tight when his eyes happened to meet hers. It was the same look that he would get whenever he looked at me. He ignored the both of us for much of my childhood, preferring to spend his days hard at work doing the job he hated, and the nights in front of our fire with a bottle of whiskey. I am told that once he was full of songs and laughter but I cannot picture it.

Whenever he wasn't home, my mother was like an angel. She was able to divert my attention from my Father's inattention most of the time, teaching me everything she could while he was working, and filling my head with stories to tell myself silently when he was home. When I was a boy I never understood his abject hatred of me. I remember the first—and only—time I ever asked my Mother about it. I was four years old and I allowed that innocent-seeming question to pass my lips when we were in the silence of my parents' room.

She looked at me for a moment, and something in her eyes made me feel afraid. Before I could rephrase my question, or else get her to believe that I didn't actually need the answer, her look turned softer and her eyes grew misty. It was as though she could no longer see me; as though she could suddenly see a world that nobody else could. Her body seemed to instantly turn to glass—a substance that I had heard tales of, but that our small family couldn't afford—and I had a new fear that if I breathed too harshly she would shatter. I held my breath desperately for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few moments, until a light came back on in my Mother's face and her body unfroze and she looked at me with such a degree of pain that my mind imprinted it upon my memory. Even now, when I think of her, it's the look that comes most readily to mind.

She never did answer my question that day. I don't blame her for that. My Mother was a very fragile creature, an angel in truth who seemed too gentle to survive in this life where people lie and cheat with such impunity. She died a few months after my seventh birthday. A sudden brutal sickness that seemed to only affect her. I remember it was the only time I've ever seen my Father cry.

With my Mother dead, my Father began to retreat ever more into himself. His drinking became worse, and he had a hard time functioning at work. At first his boss was sympathetic, and would come over to the house to bring us food that his wife had made and regale me with the stories of times long past. Eventually though, after enough time had passed and my Father's behavior didn't get any better, even his boss got fed up with him, and soon my Father was out of a job; I had to go to work to support us both.

I was pretty large, even then, always the biggest boy my age, and the work was hard but I found joy in being useful. At first, people gave me odd jobs on small work teams out of sympathy for my life and the memory of my parents. Soon, however, they began giving me tasks based on my skill and strength alone. I grew a lot in those years through some miracle. By the time I was fourteen, I was almost the same height as most of the men in our village, and was treated almost as though I were one of them. I would come home from work and take care of my Father as he continued to mostly ignore my presence. Usually he was so drunk by the time that I came home that I was able to pretend that he really _couldn't_ hear me. The only times he ever took notice of me was when we ran out of money to buy alcohol and he would have terrible fits of shaking and yelling. Sometimes he would yell at me and call me names; other times he would mumble incoherently to himself; always, he would end up passed out on whatever surface he'd been sitting and I would carry him to his room to sleep.

Life would have continued on in that vein if the foreign Northerners hadn't crawled their way over the mountains and attacked the borders of Yuskolisus. They were a frightening people, full of dark spirits and brute strength. I was only fourteen when the King's men came to our village and drafted me into their service. As I packed up my small bag of belongings I couldn't help but feel a quickening of excitement. I was going to be a soldier! At that time I had only ever heard stories of soldiers, saving damsels, fighting with honor, winning duels, being a part of a deeper camaraderie with men who were just like them. I wanted it so bad that I could taste it! I don't know how long my Father had been watching me before I noticed him. His mouth was set in the same grim line that I was used to seeing whenever he actually noticed me. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed but he looked more sober than I could remember seeing him since before my Mother died.

"I take it you're going then," was all he said. I, who had not been so specifically addressed by him in longer than I could remember, just froze. For the first time I seemed to see the frailty of his body and I wondered if he would survive without me. I wanted to say something to him; anything! Though I had been deeply hurt by his disapproval of me, I had _always_ wanted to please him. In that moment, I wanted to say something deep and profound; something that would make him take notice of me and prove that I was worthy of remembering. As I floundered for the perfect thing to say, he took a step back and the moment was lost. He turned stiffly and walked to his room, carefully shutting the door behind him. I looked back to my pack as the first bitter tears began to fill my eyes, and I angrily brushed them away.

I grabbed two of my Mother's favorite books, well-worn at the edges by now, and shoved them into my pack as I marched to the door. My hand upon the handle, I froze in place for a moment. Out of my Father's room came a melody; stiff and stumbling with little use, but hauntingly beautiful it flowed from the strings of his instrument, softly, and I heard his voice in song just a murmur behind his closed door as I pressed down on the handle and walked out of the house.


	11. New Beginning 2

The man stared at him, eyes full of mistrust and a hint of cautious hope. He waited to see which emotion would win out. Though a proper man, he was well aware that his physical form was somewhat frightening. The man's gaze flicked down to his cupped hands again, resting on the mound of gold coins nestled in the hollow. His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a careful step forward, body stiff and afraid. The man was not dumb enough to refuse aid from him when he had a family to feed.

He had come to this particular Inn to escape the rain. Though it was wondrous to feel water on his face and pretend that it could help make him clean, it had already been three years since he'd had a proper bath, and when his coat got wet he tended to smell even more ripe than usual.

He had come to this particular _room_ because the Innkeeper wouldn't allow him to come into the Inn and scare his guests no matter _how_ much gold he'd offered the man. Instead he had paid triple the price of the Inn's best suite and had been sent to the cheap rooms nestled in the stables.

He had run into this particular _man_ when he'd heard arguing coming from the room next door to his. Along with the smell of horse (which he really couldn't complain about seeing as he smelled much worse) the rooms in the stables came with enough space to house a small bed, rickety table, and paper-thin walls in a color of speckled gray. Not being one to eavesdrop when it could be helped— he'd been brought up with proper manners after all—he'd tried to block the voices out, but they invaded his best attempts and he'd finally given in to his baser impulse to listen.

"It's been over a month. How lenient am I supposed to be?"

A muffled response sounded through the walls. "You've been promising me the same thing almost every time you come to see me."

More muffled words greeted this, sounding more desperate. "So," the man said in a very dangerous tone, "because I can _afford_ to accept late payments you think I should? After all that I've done for your family, you want me to let you stay on my property for _free?_ You filthy cur! You think that I've been harboring your family out of the goodness of my heart? You think that I have even the slightest _shred_ of good feeling towards you? I allow you to stay in that little cottage because I am required to. I am not, however, required to let you stay there for free. If I don't have that money in my hands by dawn tomorrow you will be expelled from my residence _and_ you will lose a hand so that all may know you for the thief that you are."

A sound of movement and a desperate cry, "Please! M'Lord!" then a crack as of a hand striking flesh. "Do not touch me!" The door slammed shut, shaking dust from the walls, and a moment later the sound of quiet sniffing suddenly built into furious wracking sobs.

The man in the dirty coat with three-years'-grime covering every inch of him had put a hand in his pockets, making little flurries of movement with his fingers to cause the gold coins within to clink gently together. He was understandably cautious. The last time he'd approached a near stranger with a handful of gold the man had run away screaming, then come back in the night with a group of friends to try to take it by force. Since then he had sworn to always take enough time to assess the kind of help that he would be qualified to give before shoving gold under some else's nose. However, he wasn't heartless enough to ignore the man's obvious distress, and he chose that moment to break his rule.

Now however, staring at the man's stiff and frightened form, he realized that perhaps it would have been better to leave the gold someplace that the man would find it in the morning. What was that saying about hindsight?

His attention was brought back to reality when the man in front of him slowly reached out a wrinkled hand and picked out a single gold piece from the pile sitting quietly in the hollow of his unwashed hands. The man brought it up to his eyes, then abruptly put it between his teeth and bit down. He looked at the piece in astonishment, and hope finally won out over mistrust in his eyes.

He looked back at the fearsome man, ignoring for a time his long, matted hair, curling fingernails, torn and dirty shoes, bulging and misshapen body sheathed in dark fur, and the layer of grime that seemed to cover every inch of him. The wary relief was visible in the man's eyes as he quietly asked, "Why?"

"Because you need it."

"I don't know if I can pay you back."

A shake of the head and a derisive, self-deprecating laugh. "I don't require you to."

The hope in the man's eyes was suddenly guttered as suspicion crept in. "What _do_ you require of me?"

The monstrous man shook his head again; he was no longer laughing. "It's a gift, freely given. I give you my word that I will never come to collect on it."

An uncomfortable silence took reign for a moment before the tinkle of falling coins was heard. The edge of the bed glittered under its new layer of wealth, and the man-who-was-a-monster turned toward the door. A soft voice halted his progress.

"My name is George Miller. It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

George looked over at the man as he slowly turned around. Though his features were masked behind a layer of hair and dirt, George sensed an almost incredulous look in the man's eyes. He dropped them a moment later, but not before George had seen the glistening sparkle of tears sternly held back.

"My name is Bearskin." A short embarrassed silence followed the statement before Bearskin lifted his head again, tears under control but a fierce joy radiating out from his every pore. "It's a pleasure to meet you too."


End file.
